


The Big One: Angels and Demons

by OneThousandBooksLater



Series: A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Angst, Beaches Glow Blue, Bespoke Suits, Cat and the Fiddle, Demons, Familiars, Fanart, Fluff, Foreplay, Gen, Hacking, Hip Hop, Honeymoon, Horses, Isle of Man, John Gilpin's Ride, Loaghtan Sheep, Oysters, Separation Anxiety, Shocking Headline in The Infernal Times, Transfiguration, Witches, hell fire, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 45,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneThousandBooksLater/pseuds/OneThousandBooksLater
Summary: CROWLEYFor my money, the really big one will be all of us against all of them.AZIRAPHALEWhat? You mean Heaven and Hell against humanity?--Good Omens script by Neil Gaiman.Aziraphale and Crowley's love adventure. Cut loose from their organizations, how do they establish links with their human allies? Love, sex, and consequences. Volume Two.Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love. -- E. M. Forster, MauriceWe'll see how these plot pieces of a jigsaw puzzle of unknown design shape up.A continuation of the 4 shorter stories "You Can Stay at My Place if You Like," "A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield," "Jack of Diamonds," "Tango in Tadfield," and the novel-length Volume One of "The Big One."Cover art commission by AiwaSensei.
Series: A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465762
Comments: 73
Kudos: 30





	1. Cover Art by AiwaSensei

[](https://imgur.com/Pun6SGD)


	2. Disposable Demons

Tadfield. Mary Hodges’ office at Tadfield Manor. Mary is behind her executive desk, Crowley lounging in a luxurious armchair opposite the desk, Karen sitting upright in another. Crowley is speaking.

_Karen, we’ve made arrangements for your move to a flat just outside Oxford this weekend. I understand your courses begin Monday?_

_Yes._

Karen’s excitement and anticipation are obvious. Mary continues:

_We’ll send a lorry around to your home at nine tomorrow morning, if that will work for you?_

_Oh yes. I don’t have much to move, really. Mostly my tool boxes._

_The flat is furnished. Notify us if there’s anything you find lacking or that needs replacement and we’ll see to it._

Crowley growls:

_No parties. You must maintain as low a profile as possible. You know why._

Mary continues:

_Your bodyguard will have a car. A used grey Ford Fiesta. To blend in and not attract attention._

_A bodyguard?_

Crowley gives Karen a keen look.

_I’ve hired a body guard for your security. Who is also enrolled in the same courses as you. And will be living with you. The flat has a second bedroom. I trust you’ll understand the need for this infringement upon your privacy?_

Karen looks uncertain. So close to living independently. Now this.

_I . . . well, I was rather looking forward to being on my own. But I can get along with just about anyone._

_You will not attempt to evade your body guard, such as when going on dates or having sex?_

Karen’s embarrassment is obvious. She turns a deep pink.

_I . . . I don't think that will be an issue, Mr. Crowley._

_I do. You’re an attractive young woman._

_Not really, Mr. Crowley._

Crowley regards her silently. Decides refuting body shaming of plump, plain young human females is not his job.

_Well then. Let’s get on with this and introduce your body guard._

Mary taps her phone. Soon footsteps sound in the hall, and Disposable Demon Manny enters the room.

Or, saunters into the room would be more accurate. Copping Demon’s Crowley’s demeanor, hands jammed into pockets of skinny black jeans, thumbs pointing to crotch. Dark glasses. Inky hair in loose silky waves, two curls oddly upturned in a semblance of small horns. Coffee skin. Unshaven. 

_Take of the glasses, Manny._

Wordlessly, and with a vague air of insolence, Manny flips off his glasses. To reveal black, half-lidded eyes in a visage with a remarkable resemblance to a lean twenty-something Lenny Kravitz. 

Karen is speechless. The demon turns, extends his hands and gives her a courtly bow. She turns scarlet.

Crowley and Mary lock eyes. Crowley uncoils from his chair, heads for the door.

_You two take off to the café and get acquainted over coffee or something. Mary has work to do. I gotta go. Ciao._

* * *

Tadfield Manor. The small office of the two Disposable Demon Erics. They chat back and forth over their shared desk.

 _One of the Mannys_ _is going with Karen to helicopter school._

_I wish we could go._

_Demon Crowley says we’re needed here._

_Yeah. Management training full time from now on._

_All those properties he’s acquiring. Mary says we’re going to be really busy with staff and accounting._

_I like computers better than cars anyway._

_But we’ll miss being around Karen every day._

_Yeah. I loved touching her._

_When we rescued her from that lecherous human?_

_Uh huh. She let me put an arm around her waist._

_And I got to hold her shoulders._

The two sit in wistful silence for some moments.

_She’s only going as far away as Oxford._

_Maybe we can visit?_

_Or maybe she’ll come home on weekends and holidays._

_Do you ever wonder what she looks like without her clothes?_

_All the time._

More moments of contemplative silence.

_We can’t have sex with a human, of course._

_We don’t even have sex with demons._

_Wouldn’t want to be an incubus._

_No! ‘Course not._ [Extremely disgusted sneer.]

_But I’d still like to hold her and be close to her._

_Yeah. I’ll bet that would feel nice._

_Would it be wrong, do you think?_

_What the fuck? We’re demons. We’re supposed to do wrong._

More thoughtful silence.

_Lucky other Eric, seducing that angel._

_Do you think she realizes what’s going to happen when he gets discorporated?_

_Dunno. Guessing they’re not talking about that much right now._

_Let’s take a break and practice “Blood Sweat & Tears” in the conference room._

_How about “Black Swan?”_

_Yeah. You’re right. That one would be better._

* * *

Tadfield Manor. Karen and Manny are seated across from one another at a small table in the otherwise empty café, each having a cappuccino. The counter attendant has gone off into the kitchen to rummage through the supplies closet.

_So, where are you from, Manny?_

_Hell._

_Tch. Seriously. Are you from London? Or some foreign country?_

_Mr. Crowley says to tell humans I’m from Brazil._

_“Humans?” What, are you an alien or something?_

_I’m a demon._

_You know, if you’re going to be hanging around me all the bloody time, you’re going to have to cut the bullshit._

_No bullshit. Mr. Crowley’s orders are to not lie to you._

_You really expect me to believe you’re a demon from Hell?_

Manny shrugs. Then snorts.

_Humans! You believe all sorts of ridiculous shit. And ignore what’s staring you right in the face._

Karen silently regards him. A lightbulb goes on.

_Are the two Erics also demons?_

_Yes._

_And let me guess. So is Mr. Crowley._

_Yes._

_Bloody hell. Whatever happened to guardian angels?_

_There’s only one in Tadfield right now. Mr. Crowley’s lover._

_Mr. Fell? The bookshop owner?_

_The angel Aziraphale._

_There were others?_

_One other. She is Eric’s lover. They are now working at a horse farm in the Cotswolds._

_All those Erics who helped Mum and I move from London weren’t sextuplets? There are lots of them?_

_Yes. Lots of me, too._

Karen digests all this for a long moment, then grimaces.

_Great. I get saddled with a smoking hot guy and he turns out to be a demon._

_Smoking hot? Am I doing that?_

Manny looks around.

_No. “Smoking hot” just means you’re good-looking. Sexy._

_Oh. . . . I can’t have sex with you._

_More orders from Mr. Crowley?_

_No. Having sex with humans is the punishment for incubi and succubi._

_“Punishment?”_

The disgust on Manny’s face is all too plain.

_They are considered the filthiest of all the ranks of demons._

_So having sex with humans is a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it? Just not you?_

Manny nods.

Karen rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Takes a sip of her coffee. Sits back in her chair and sighs.

Manny gives her a look.

_Would you rather I were female?_

He transforms into a sultry dark brunette.

_Oh lord. Don’t do that. There’d be a line following you down the street. You’d have to fight off the men._

He morphs back.

_You think so? As a woman I would be followed and get into fights with human males?_

_I was using a figure of speech. Just like when I said you’re smoking hot. I meant how men think they're entitled to pester women and make nuisances of themselves. You would attract them._

_The London DeeDees say they have to smite human males all the time._

Karen makes a wry face.

_Probably true, in London. DeeDee is a demon, too? That little mop of a girl can wreck someone?_

_More than one._

Karen looks thoughtful.

_Did the Erics tell you about that guy in the shop a few weeks ago?_

_Yes._

_Well, if you can move in a fight like they did, I guess you’ll do as a bodyguard._

_I can pin Eric two falls out of three. Mr. Crowley says we are not to use our knives, though._

_Knives?_

Manny reaches out a hand, into which an obsidian dagger appears.

_Omigod. No. You mess someone up with that, the police will come round for sure. You know, this is really depressing. Let’s talk about something else. What do demons do for fun?_

_We like to drink alcohol. You humans have been very inventive with that substance. And dancing. We like hip hop._

_So. We can go clubbing in Oxford, you think?_

Manny grins.

_Hope so._

_You’ll have to show me some dance moves._

_I can do that._


	3. Cat and Fiddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an ordinary evening in Tadfield.

Tadfield. Late evening. The bookshop. The Them have just finished their after-dinner school project session and left to bicycle back to their homes. Aziraphale, robed in his ratty old velvet dressing gown, is in the backroom, seated on the Persian carpet, supported by one of the giant pillows propped against the front of his armchair. Crowley is wearing himself, sprawled across Aziraphale’s lap and resting his head upon the angel’s shoulder. He’s pushed the robe off Aziraphale’s other shoulder, and is idly caressing the angel’s fuzzy chest while he speaks.

_I’m getting that edgy feeling again, Angel. Something’s going to happen._

_Yes. I’ve noticed. You’ve been exceptionally clingy for the past week._

_I’m trying to home in on what’s gnawing at me. Keep coming round to Eric and Hekla._

_That why you drove up there this morning? Instead of going to London?_

_Yep. Nothing obviously amiss. Just the opposite, in fact. Alexis and Leslie say they’re the best grooms they’ve ever had. Pay attention to instructions. Don’t slack off. Liked by the horses. Eric’s learning to ride well. Old Boris seems to enjoy packing him around. They were doing small jumps yesterday, bareback and no hands._

_I remember riding horses. Most unpleasant._

_Definitely hard on the buttocks. Not to mention they’re such cantankerous beasts._

_But Hekla and Eric get on well with them?_

_I think Boris likes us demons because we feel like a hot water bottle on his back._ _And Hekla is, well, an angel. You never got bucked off, or kicked, or bitten, did you?_

_No, now that you mention it._

_I got the treatment regularly. Those giant black jobs Hell provided could kick you into next week. And they always insisted on rearing and pawing the air at least once before galloping off at top speed._

_Ran John Gilpin’s race, did you?_

Crowley laughs.

_And how! At least Gilpin’s horse let him mount. I always had to take a running leap into the saddle and grab the mane for dear life. Usually the damned animal was prancing around, and I’d go right over the other side and into to the dirt. And you know what stable dirt is like._

_I expect the livery stable grooms found that hilarious. They were always snickering behind my back, I know._

_The bastards would gather to watch and laugh themselves sick whenever I showed up. I think what finally sold me on humans was when they invented cars._

They sit in silence for some moments. Then Aziraphale murmurs:

_Beelzebub hasn’t shown up to brand Hekla as she did me?_

_Nope. That’s one of the things worrying me. Hekla’s vulnerable to Hell Fire extinction._

_Surely no demon would destroy her?_

_No way. To them she’s a prize. A trophy._

_Am I?_

Crowley smiles.

_You bet. A big one. You’ve made me a legend. Mmmmm . . ._

He spends the next several minutes kissing Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders.

Aziraphale hugs his demon close and strokes his head.

_Really, my dear. If demons won’t attack her, why do you think Hekla needs protection from Hell Fire?_

Crowley sits up and gazes at Aziraphale.

_Surely you remember what the Heavenly Host tried to do to you?_

_I will never forget, Crowley._

_What do you think happened to that Hell Fire tornado after I survived it?_

_I . . . I don’t know. Doesn’t it burn itself out?_

_Oh no. I walked out, of course. But Eric was still there when I left._

_Eric? He was there?_

_He was the demon Hell assigned to deliver the pot of Hell Fire. He opened it to release the tornado. Got cocky and asked Gabriel if he could hit me. Said he’d always wanted to hit an angel. Gabriel actually gave him permission._

_No! Gabriel would have allowed a demon to strike me?_

_Oh yeah._

_How humiliating!_

_Gabriel’s a right bastard, no mistake. But Eric’s no fool. Disposable Demons have a keen sense of self preservation. I gave him a look, and he backed off. But to continue about the Hell Fire pot. There’s no way the angels would have approached it. They were scared out of their celestial skins. So Eric would've had to replace the cover._

Crowley magics his phone to hand. 

_Call Eric. . . . . . . Eric. Tell me what you did with that pot of Hell Fire you delivered to Heaven. Did you take it back to Hell? . . . Hm. . . . Turn on speakerphone, will you? I want to ask Hekla a question . . . . . . Hekla, in your travels around Heaven sweeping out rooms, did you ever see a pot of Hell Fire? . . . Indeed. Any way humans can get at it? . . . OK, thanks, Hekla. Ciao, you two._

He disappears his phone and regards Aziraphale.

_Eric says Gabriel told him to leave the pot in Heaven. Hekla says it’s just sitting in a locked storeroom on a floor off limits to humans, with a sign saying, “Hell Fire. Danger. Do not touch.” This is bad, Angel._

_Why in Heaven would they want to keep something around that could utterly extinguish an angel?_

Crowley does not answer. Merely waits for the penny to drop.

_Oh. Dear lord._

* * *

Tadfield. The street outside Stitch Witchery, the new needlework shop. Wensleydale and DeeDee are bicycling past, on their way home from their after-hours homework session with the rest of The Them at the bookshop.

_Wensley! Hang on! Stop!_

They stop their bikes and dismount. DeeDee cocks her head as if trying to listen to some faint sound. She turns her bike and walks it toward the needlework shop. Wensley follows her. They reach the step outside the shop door. Fiddle music can be heard within. DeeDee pokes her head through the door, then fades through it. The sound of a latch releasing. The door opens.

_Wensley! Come in! You have to see this!_

Wensley locks his bike, then slips inside. The door closes itself behind him. Confronting him is a tall, slender old woman with snow white hair drawn neatly back into a tight bun. Clad in a cream extravagantly patterned Aran jumper that hangs to just above her bony knees. Black leggings and black Balmoral boots. And a giant cat – a lean black panther with orange eyes like lamps – standing on its hind legs and holding a bow and fiddle. 

_Ah! Anathema told me you might drop in some time._

Wensley, backed against the door, is staring at the huge cat.

_Oh! . . . Uh . . . Please excuse us for coming in uninvited. We can go if we’re interrupting something._

_Oh my goodness, no. You must stay. Wensleydale, may I present Cat Sith, my familiar demon. Cat Sith, this is Adam Young’s councilor Wensleydale. And you of course recognize the Disposable Demon. Wensleydale, I am Clare Weaver, Witch._

Cat Sith presents a deep courtly bow to Wensleydale, arms outstretched, the bow in one paw and the fiddle in the other. Clare bobs a curtesy.

_Uh . . . Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Weaver. Mr. Cat Sith._

_Cat Sith and I were just having a bit of fun. Cat Sith, if you please?_

Clare raises a finger. Cat Sith shoulders his fiddle, and begins to play “Jenny Dang the Weaver.” Wensley’s eyes are riveted upon the cat’s paw as it fingers the strings with surprising dexterity and speed. Clare extends a hand in an invitation to DeeDee, who approaches. They face one another and bow at the waist. Then begin to dance a reel to the music.

After a while Cat Sith changes the tune to “Haste to the Wedding” and Clare and DeeDee begin to dance a jig. Some minutes later the tune ends. They stop, and turn to regard WensleYdale.

_C’mon, Wensley, we’ll teach you how to do a jig. It’s easy._

_DeeDee, when did you learn to do dances like that?_

_‘S what we did before we discovered hip hop._

Wensley cautiously approaches and stands alongside DeeDee. The jig lesson commences.

* * *

Tadfield. Wensleydale’s home. Ten minutes before he’s supposed to be in bed. His parents are standing waiting for him when he comes in the door.

_Wensleydale, you’re very nearly late._

_I called Deirdre Young. She says your homework group at the bookshop broke up over an hour ago._

_DeeDee and I stopped off at that new needlework shop. Ms. Weaver and DeeDee taught me how to dance a jig._

_Dance a jig? At this time of night? What on earth for?_

_Oh, just for the fun of it. Ms. Weaver was listening to fiddle music and dancing around by herself._

Wensleydale’s parents exchange a concerned look. Then his mother decides:

_Well, perhaps that’s how she does her daily exercise. It is important to stay fit when one is elderly._

_It does take a lot of energy. I’m pretty tired, Mum. Can I go to bed?_

_Of course, Wensley. But next time you’re delayed in coming home, would you please call us?_

_Sure, Mum. I should have thought of that._

_Good night, son._

After Wensley troops up the stairs to his room, his mother murmurs:

_I’ll wager it was that girl DeeDee’s idea to stop at the needlework shop._

_Do you think Wensley is hanging around with her a bit too much?_

_Oh, no. Not really. They seem to be fast friends._

_He is 13 now._

_Yes. But I’m not talking about teenage romance. It’s that I can see how she fit right in with that little group of pranksters Wensley has been part of since he was small._

_Them? Tut, my dear. Arthur and Deirdre run a tight parental ship. I don’t think we need to worry about some occasional minor mischief. Boys will be boys._

_And so will those girls Pepper and DeeDee. Not exactly sweet little princesses, are they?_

_My word, no. Saucy little devils. Take no guff from the boys. More power to ‘em, I say. I myself like strong, upstanding women._

He grins, steps over to his wife and gives her an affectionate hug and peck.

* * *

John Gilpin's Ride, illustrated:

<https://www.gutenberg.org/files/11979/11979-h/11979-h.htm>


	4. Collusion Suspected

Heaven. Gabriel’s gleaming white executive suite with the sweeping view of Earth’s landmarks. Gabriel is gazing out the window as Michael speaks.

_About Angel Hekla, Gabriel._

_The little mouse who got carried away in the demon riot?_

_Yes. No doubt you have been wondering about some peculiar aspects of that incident._

_Such as?_

_Why she did not draw her sword, for one. She just stood holding her broom._

_Why was she back sweeping, anyway? I thought you’d sent her to work in our tailor’s shop._

_Indeed. Another question I’d like answered. Saturday night she goes on a date with the Demon Daji. Sunday morning she’s sweeping in the lobby._

_What on earth possessed her to go on a date with a demon, anyway?_

_Yet another unanswered question. The owner of the shop says a young man was making a pest of himself by visiting Hekla during office hours. She suspects they were dating after work._

_A young man? Daji was going about as a male?_

_No. Seems to have been someone else. Not Asian like Daji. I thought to query the shop owner for more details yesterday. She says the young man had a rather peculiar hairstyle – cut close, but with two high bits of fluff like bunny ears._

_Omigosh. Like that imp that brought the Hell Fire pot._

The two stand silently while Gabriel digests all this. Finally he murmurs:

_Have The Twins reported the whereabouts of Demon Daji?_

_Good question. Last sighting was by the tailor when Daji appeared to pick up Hekla at closing time._

_Remind me – why was Daji even patronizing this particular shop to begin with?_

_According to Ammun, she was brought in by Demon Crowley . Wanted bespoke apparel suitable to a posting in Shanghai. Ammun was there at the time they came in. He said Hekla was terrified. He stuck around to ensure there would be no trouble._

_A hundred bespoke tailors in London, and the demons picked ours?_

_Another peculiar aspect, wouldn’t you say?_

_Hm. M’yes._

_The shop owner says the young man pestering Hekla in the following weeks was Demon Crowley’s manservant._

_Manservant? Crowley has a manservant?_

_You haven’t seen what Crowley looks like recently, have you. He’s been swanking around like some sort of West End financier._

_You don’t say? That surly little slacker, in a pinstripe suit?_

_And then some. Here, have a look at these pictures the tailor shared with me. Taken when Daji went in for a final fitting. Crowley’s looking on in the background._

Michael hands Gabriel her phone. He flicks through a couple of screens.

_My word. No wonder Aziraphale was looking so natty._

He returns Michael’s phone. She continues:

_Crowley’s man is a demonic imp of course._

_Certainly._

_The shop owner says the imp seemed to be pleading with Hekla about something before Daji showed up._

_Talking her into a date with Daji?_

_Alas, no. That would have made too much sense. Rather, the owner says she distinctly heard the imp say, “Hekla, please. Don’t go with Daji.” The owner says she was indignant that the little pest would try to dissuade Hekla from an appointment with a woman as attractive and wealthy as Daji. Thought he was probably jealous. So she walked in to shoo him away, and he fled. Daji entered shortly afterward. Told the owner she was taking Hekla to dinner and an entertainment with some influential friends. Hekla was smiling and happy._

_So Hekla goes from being terrified to traipsing off on a dinner date with an arch demon._

_It gets worse. The tailor says this wasn’t their first date. Apparently Daji took Hekla out on a few occasions before leaving for Shanghai for several weeks. When Hekla didn’t show up for work on Monday, the tailor thought perhaps Daji had hired her away, and couldn’t she have at least given two weeks’ notice?_

_Michael, this makes no sense whatsoever. Hekla seems to have been dating an imp and an arch demon, both?_

_Yes. Scarcely believable, isn’t it? I think we need to bring in Hekla for an interview._

_Have Uriel see to it, will you?_

_I think Uriel should come in for a little chat as well. You of course recollect her report that Aziraphale and Demon Crowley delivered Hekla to humans in Tadfield._

_Hm. How did Hekla go from being abducted by a crowd of demons into the hands of those two traitors?_

_Exactly. And you’ve no doubt wondered why that pair of renegades and Uriel would share the same human acquaintances in Tadfield._

_Well, It is a small village._

_Not that small._

_I can understand Uriel staying in touch with Aziraphale. That’s why we’ve got her in Tadfield, after all. But difficult to believe she’d tolerate the mere presence of a demon like Crowley. She’d have her sword out in an instant. Surely you’re not suggesting some sort of collusion, Michael?_

_I’m suggesting we question Uriel a bit more closely as to the sequence of events between the demon riot and Hekla going off to work in a rural stable, of all places._

_I thought that was to keep her safe from the demons of London._

_Perhaps we should verify that._

_Well then. Have Barraquiel make the arrangements to bring in Uriel and Hekla._

_Ammun as well?_

_No. Absolutely not._

_I’ll be off, then._

_Thank you for the report, Michael._


	5. Flight and Pursuit

A horse farm and stable somewhere in the Cotswolds. Disposable Demon Eric and Angel Hekla have taken the old Irish draught stallion Boris and the little Icelandic stallion Angel out for a spring evening bareback ride. They’re now heading homeward, exiting a spinney and crossing a rolling field splashed by golden setting sunlight. Leading the animals by their reins (one doesn’t always have to ride a horse). 

_Tut! Angel, no more nibbling today. You don’t want to get grass sick._

Angel shakes his mane and smacks his lips and tongue around the bit as if savoring that last little taste of his quick nip of a tall shoot.

_Gosh, isn’t this pretty? And so peaceful. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m actually here._

_I’ve been wondering. Do you think Earth is the real Heaven?_

_Well, it sure is for me. I go upstairs every chance I get. But are you saying Heaven isn’t a wonderful place?_

_Depends who you are. Right now, I could be at a dusty desk in Metatron’s library, bored almost to extinction._

_Angels can be extinguished by boredom?_

Hekla laughs.

_No, silly. Just by Hell Fire._

_Still can’t believe Lord Beelzebub let me and DeeDee out of Hell. Was sure we were going to be tormented into discorporation._

_She’d discorporate one of her own demons?_

_Well, actually, probably not. Lord Lucifer and Lord Beelzebub never discorporate Disposable Demons. Nor does Demon Crowley, although sometimes he gets testy and gives us a zap. But the rest of The Fallen enjoy discorporating us all the time._

_Have you ever been discorporated?_

_Countless times._

_And you always come back the same?_

_No. We lose a lot of our memory when we’re reincorporated. I suppose if I remembered all the awful stuff that’s happened to me, I wouldn’t have room to think any new thoughts. Or maybe treating us like leaves on a tree keeps us fresh and up to date or something. Legion thinks very deep, ancient thoughts._

_Legion?_

_We’re clones of the Seraph, Lord Legion. She possessed me when Lord Beelzebub was interrogating DeeDee and me. Told Lord B to back off. And Lord B did. Legion is very powerful._

_She possessed you? Demons can do that?_

_Well, I imagine Legion can possess us because we’re actually part of her._

_Just how many of you are there?_

_I don’t know. Lots. We’re all over the place. We don’t all look like me, of course. You saw the rest of the Baepsae Platoon. There are many other incorporations as well._

_How did you get the name Eric? Your incorporation seems like the brown African humans. But Eric is a northern name, from where the bleached humans live._

_I forget when I got the name Eric. I’ve been dispatched on Earth missions to this island for a long time._

_I like it. It is a regal name in the parts of Earth that I have been sent to._

Eric strikes a haughty kingly pose.

_Suits me, you think? Eric, the Regal Rag?_

_Tch. Don’t call yourself a rag. You are strong and brave._

She stops. Steps close to Eric and hugs him tightly, pulling his head atop her shoulder. 

_Don’t get discorporated, Eric. I don’t know what I’d do without you._

After some time, Eric pulls away and regards her.

_I’d never forget you, Hekla. But I think we’re safe here. Safe for awhile, at least._

_Let’s get these beasts comfortable for the night. Then have some aquavit and-_

_Divine Ecstasy?_

Hekla kisses him. Then they leap to remount and canter back to the stable.

* * *

Tadfield. The bookshop is closed, but Aziraphale is at the sales desk, awaiting Crowley’s arrival from London. Just as Crowley enters, the angel’s phone chimes. He takes it out and swipes.

_Hello, Janet. . . ._

Looks up to see a pair of yellow eyes worriedly regarding him.

_Oh no, we must beg off. Thank you for the invitation. But Crowley and I have already made plans for this evening. . . . Goodbye._

He disconnects, stows his phone, walks around the desk, slips his arms beneath Crowley’s jacket and hugs him. The demon’s arms wrap around him, lips nuzzling the angel’s wooly hair.

_We’ve made plans, Aziraphale?_

_Not precisely. I just thought we should be alone together tonight. What would you like to do?_

_You’re not going to like this._

_Oh?_

_I think we need to drive to the Cotswolds and extract Eric and Hekla._

_And take them where? I thought they were already in the safest place we could find._

_Let’s go to Cornwall._

_Hm. Still good oysters there this month._

Crowley grins.

_I can always count on you to note the culinary delights._

_Let us be off, then!_

Magicking on their overcoats and gloves, they trot out the door and into the Bentley.

* * *

An hour later, at a stable in the Cotswolds. The Bentley pulls up with a spray of gravel. Crowley vaults out, pounds on the door of the little farm outbuilding that’s been converted into a small cabin for Hekla and Eric.

_Open up, dammit. I know you’re in there._

After a long minute, the door opens. Crowley shoves it wide, strides across the room. Grabs Hekla by the arm, scoops up Eric on the return pass, drags them outside. Aziraphale jumps out and holds the passenger door open as they climb into the back seats. He murmurs:

_Probably best to magic on some clothing._

Hekla and Eric flick their hands to take care of that as Aziraphale resumes his seat and the Bentley rumbles off into the night.

* * *

Early morning at the Cotswolds stable. Two security angels appear on the doorstep to the office. They’re clad like London MP’s. 

_We’re supposed to knock, right?_

_Dunno. Door’s not locked._

They walk in. Alexis rises from her desk.

_Can I help you?_

_We are here for Ang- . . . the woman Hekla._

_Do you have a warrant?_

The angels regard one another as if they don’t know what that means.

Alexis gives them a keen look.

_I must ask you to leave. Now. There is no woman Hekla here._

_But we were told . . ._

_You were told wrongly._

Alexis rises from her chair, walks over and holds the door open. Notices that there is no police car parked and waiting.

_Leave._

Not knowing exactly what to do in such a situation, the angels exit. Then walk off up the drive. Once they’re out of sight, they vanish.

Alexis gets out her phone.

_Mr. Crowley. Something very odd just happened . . ._


	6. Revelations at Falmouth

A seaside hotel in Falmouth. Aziraphale, Crowley, Hekla, and Eric are having tea, seated in comfortable chairs at a small table near a window overlooking the terrace and view of the ocean. It’s that time of spring when green shoots are appearing but everything nonetheless still looks muddy and blowtorched. Overcast and windy to boot. Sea the color of lead, white breakers grinding ashore. The tea is exceptionally tasty, the staff having ample time to prepare it due the decrease in bookings. Crowley has just ordered a second bottle of champagne, his teacup remaining conspicuously empty.

_The tour of the Castle was swell and all, but I’m enjoying this more._

_Indeed, Crowley. Watching those waves roll in makes a body feel comfortable and secure just sitting here._

Aziraphale looks around the room. Continues:

_Not many other visitors this time of year. The weather, you think?_

_Not to mention the plague._

_Crowley, this is nothing like the 14 th century._

_Not yet. But one can always hope._

_Really, my dear._

_Yeah. Too many decent humans would go right along with the trash. Hell’s already groaning under the load. What’s it like in Heaven these days, Hekla?_

Hekla considers a moment.

_I probably shouldn’t reveal this to you and Eric, Demon Crowley. But there has been talk among the ranks about the increasing burden of humans. Many angels are resentful. They feel as if we’re hotel servants to the humans. They don’t like it._

_At least we demons get to torment the bastards._

Hekla makes a face.

_In Heaven, the bastards are tormenting us._

_Don’t like humans, Hekla?_

Hekla suddenly looks shifty. Crowley murmurs:

_Careful, angel. You’re on thin ice with this one._

Hekla gazes at him in alarm.

_Demon Crowley! You know?_

_I made inquiries. Hell’s archives aren’t a patch on Metatron’s, of course. But a reporter for the Infernal Times was way ahead of me. Called me to ask what I knew about the Angel Hekla and a human named Steinunn Ravnsdotter._

Now it’s Eric’s turn to look distressed.

_Please, Demon Crowley. Don’t say more._

Hekla’s face twists in pain as she regards Eric.

_Eric. Tell me. Is she in Hell?_

_No. We looked. Not there._

Hekla is nearly ecstatic with relief.

_Oh! Thank the Almighty! I searched everywhere in Heaven for her. ‘Twas why I wanted keep my sweeper’s job. But I could not find her. The thought that she must be among the damned . . ._

Hekla hangs her head in anguish.

Crowley growls:

_Must’ve had a light heart. Despite the adultery._

Hekla winces. Looks up and regards Eric.

_So you know?_

_Yes. But I don’t care, Hekla!_

_You have told me what demons think of those who have congress with humans. Incubi, yes?_

_It must not be the same for angels!_

_Oh, it is, Eric. It is. That’s why I wasn’t granted enough power to miracle an escape. I was left to be burned at the stake. And then abandoned in Housekeeping for six hundred years._

What can only be described as an evil grin appears on Crowley’s face.

_Well, at least you’re moving upscale with your lovers, Hekla._

Silence all around. Then Hekla’s soft voice:

_No, Demon Crowley. That would insult the memory of Steinunn. Eric is different. There is no upscale to love._

Her beatific smile lands on the disposable demon like golden light.

Eric nearly collapses with relief. Gets up and moves his chair alongside hers so he can hold her hand.

Crowley regards Aziraphale:

_We now seem to have two unrepentant angels. My my. How times do change._

_And two unrepentant demons._

_Well, we demons are damned and unforgiveable, of course. Repentance isn’t really an option. But I will say that Beelzebub has been oddly merciful lately._

_What do you mean, Crowley?_

_She pinched my tail and made me squeak, but she let me escape from Hell. And she didn’t discorporate Eric and DeeDee. Even though they betrayed five fellow demons._

Eric winces.

_We expected to be tormented into grease spots._

_With good reason. Hastur and Ligur enjoyed telling me how they’d read my report on the Spanish Inquisition. Were all set to try things out on me until I was squishy. Hell’s learned a lot from the humans about how to do it right._

Aziraphale looks thoughtful, then murmurs:

_Hekla, Crowley says your sword now burns blue. As does mine. And Eric is now marked with a gold star. Like Crowley’s. The Almighty seems to countenance our love._

_‘Scuse me a mo._

Crowley gets up, walks to the far exit and goes outside. Pulls out his phone and makes a call.

_Crowley._

_Hey, Prince Bee. You saw Eric’s gold star? That pot of Hell Fire is still in storage in Heaven. Word to the wise._

Beelzebub disconnects. 

He’s about to re-enter the room when his phone vibrates.

_Evgeny. What’s up?_

_Was that a voice call to your boss just now? You didn’t see her face?_

_Nope. Was she smiling with delight to hear my dulcet tones?_

Evgeny’s snort comes through the phone.

_Thought she was going to melt the fucking screen. Don’t fuck up whatever the fuck you’re doing right now, ‘s all I can say._

_Thanks, Evgeny. Noted. You like oysters? Can bring you some._

_Fuck no._

_Local gin it is, then. Ciao._


	7. Devils on the Beach

Falmouth. A dark and stormy night. The best suite in a Victorian shoreside hotel. Aziraphale and Crowley have performed a minor miracle to transport their dressing gowns from the Mayfair apartment, Crowley now arrayed in the snake pattern jacquard silk with deep red lining, Aziraphale in the sinfully cozy lavender tartan flannel with gold velvet lining. Seated on the couch facing the large windows with the ocean vista, they’ve nearly polished off a bottle’s worth of Tarquin’s gin martinis to accompany the iced platter of oysters, of which now only the shells remain.

_Crowley, can we close the drapes? The clouds have obscured the moon, so there’s not much of a vista._

_Yep. No sense making things easy for that devil DeeDee._

He flicks a finger, and the drapes close. 

_She won’t do her party trick of going through walls, do you think?_

_Not unless she wants a minor smiting._

* * *

Outside on a window ledge, DeeDee grimaces and levitates back down to Manny waiting on the ground.

_What were they doing?_

_Eating oysters and drinking._

_I’ve never eaten an oyster. Have you?_

_I’ve never tried a raw one. They look like a gob of spit. But they’re pretty good fried. And you can get them smoked, in cans._

_Crowley says we’ll be here for at least a week. Wanna go look for oysters tomorrow?_

_I think we should. If Crowley’s eating them, it’s probably an Earth experience worth having. He usually just drinks._

_Hey, look. Jin’s following Eric and his angel along the shoreline walk._

_Looks as if they’re heading for that ramp down to the beach._

_What on earth for? The waves are coming in fast. The café is closed._

_The moon just came through the clouds. Maybe they’re trying out that human thing._

_What human thing?_

_Walking on a beach under moonlight is considered romantic._

_Huh! Satan’s sins. . . . Let’s go sit under some shelter on the Terrace and smoke a joint. We can keep an eye on Crowley’s room and the entry from there._

_Sure._

* * *

  
Back inside the suite, Aziraphale is taking the final sip of the last cocktail. He’s sitting, as usual, with knees primly together. Crowley, as usual, is doing his Barberini Faun sprawl, fitting it as best he can onto the small sofa, one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, martini glass in his other hand. He flicks their empty cocktail glasses onto the little table they’ve moved in front of the couch. Then another finger flick to push the table farther away across the polished marble floor. Grasps a tasseled end of the twisted silk waist cord to Aziraphale’s robe, slowly pulls it as if opening a lovely present.

_Now then. I could use some petting._

_Of course, my dear._

A delightful quarter hour ensues. They’re seriously getting down to business when DeeDee bursts through the window wall.


	8. Devils on the Beach, cont'd.

Falmouth. Twenty minutes earlier, outside the hotel. Eric and Hekla are walking hand in hand along the shingle beach. The tide is incoming, whitecaps are churning over the pebbles. A full moon glows eerily behind ragged clouds.

_I used to love walking along beaches at night. The sound of waves is very soothing. Did you know, sometimes when walking on sandy beaches your footsteps will glow blue?_

_You’re kidding._

_No. Something in the sand lights up when you step on it._

Eric gets out his phone, does a Google search. 

_You’re right! Look at this. Says it’s small creatures in the sand. Wow!_

Hekla is busy looking at Eric’s phone, and does not notice the sudden appearance on the beach behind them of a tall, slim Asian with glowing orange eyes. But Eric sees the apparition, and cries out in terror.

_Lord Beelzebub!_

He attempts to step between the demon and Hekla, but is brushed aside as if he were smoke. Falls to the ground. Struggles to get up, but a glance from Beelzebub freezes him as an anguished statue in mid-crouch. Beelzebub effortlessly grasps Hekla’s wrist, wrenches the angel’s arm behind her back. Breathes a gout of fire and Hekla’s clothing turns to ash. Swiftly, the demon places her hand at the base of the angel’s spine. Hekla spasms and screams, her cries drowned by the roar of the waves. When Beelzebub senses the angel is near discorporation, she releases her. Hekla falls limp upon the shingle. Beelzebub vanishes.

Jin comes running up as Eric, no longer paralyzed, crouches over Hekla. The angel struggles to push herself up on her forearms, but collapses.

_I’m weak. My strength is . . . gone._

An incoming wave hisses up the beach and its leading edge trickles around them. Hekla shudders at its icy touch.

_Eric. I’ll help you lift her._

The two disposable demons roll Hekla over. Jin lifts her shoulders, Eric her legs. They drape the angel over Eric’s arm and shoulder more like a sack of grain than a damsel in distress. Jin brushes off the beach gravel, snaps her fingers to magic a pair of black jeans, a hoodie, and trainers onto the angel.

_Sorry everything’s black. It’s all I know how to do._

Jin notices Eric’s phone lying on the beach, reaches down and pockets it. They trot off back to the hotel. Just before entering the grounds, Hekla murmurs:

_Put me down. Just hold me up and help me walk._

DeeDee and Manny spot them coming, race to join them. The little group escorts Hekla up the entry stairs, the night doorman opens the door for them. 

_Does Miss require medical assistance?_

_Oh no. Just a fall on the beach. I’ll be all right._

_Our staff can provide acetaminophen, if you think it would help. Simply ask at the desk._

_Thank you._

Once inside, Eric again scoops Hekla into his arms, this time carrying her in a more ladylike fashion.

The night porter and doorman exchange glances. The porter walks over.

_Strong lad, that._

They go out for a quick smoke on the door step.

* * *

Back in Aziraphale and Crowley’s room.

_Demon Crowley! Beelzebub appeared and tormented Hekla! You must come!_

_Like Heaven I must. She left Hekla incorporated, did she?_

_Yes._

_Well then, just let her rest. She’ll get over it._

_Really, Crowley._

Aziraphale snaps his fingers. He and Crowley are once again attired in their robes, this time with slippers as well.

_Lead us to your room, DeeDee._

Crowley snarls, but joins Aziraphale and stalks alongside him as they navigate the corridors to the family-style room lodging the disposable demons. Hekla is on the bed in the “parents” room. Crowley pushes ahead, rolls her like a log onto her stomach, snaps his fingers to vanish her clothing.

_Really, my dear._

Aziraphale snaps _his_ fingers and Hekla is clad in purple silk pajamas. Glaring at Aziraphale, Crowley lifts the shirt tail and pulls the bottoms down a bit to reveal a red pentacle burn mark just above Hekla’s tailbone.

_Aha. Beelzebub delivered._

He taps the mark with an index finger.

_Smarts a bit, does it?_

_Ow! Yes. I hurt all over._

Aziraphale passes his hand over the mark, then up along Hekla’s spine.

_Ohh . . . . The pain is gone now. Thank you, Aziraphale._

Crowley growls:

_You really ought to thank Beelzebub. This mark protects you from demonic Hell Fire. Aziraphale sports one just like it._

Manny, Jin, and DeeDee crowd around to look.

_Wow._

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s arm.

_Crowley, shall we return to our room?_

The two senior supernatural beings exit. Jin, Manny, and DeeDee regard Eric. 

_S’pose you two want to be alone?_

_Yeah._

_See you at breakfast._

The three disposable demons head for the sitting room.

_That angel’s pretty toned. She looks like one of those human dancers at the Royal Ballet._

_A ballerina?_

_Yeah._

_And just when did you go to the Royal Ballet, Manny?_

_Every day. Way more fun than driving a cab. They’re closed now, though. Thanks to the plague._

Manny magics a bottle of Tarquin’s shoplifted earlier in the day. 

_Some dance practice and this, you think?_

They do think so.

* * *

Back in Crowley and Aziraphale’s suite. They walk into the bedroom. Crowley doesn’t wait for Aziraphale to disrobe and climb into bed. Instead, snaps his fingers so they’re both nude, grabs the angel and flings the both of them atop the covers. Wrapping his arms and legs tightly around Aziraphale as if afraid the angel will be taken from him, he rolls and thrashes atop the bed – demon atop, angel atop, demon atop – morphs into his python form with coils tightening around the angel and rolls about some more . . . human . . . snake . . . human . . . snake . . . Aziraphale forces himself to relax, and Crowley ceases rolling about, morphs back to human and comes to rest beneath the angel. Aziraphale levitates the both of them a bit, encircles Crowley in a tight hug, holding the demon’s arms against his side. His lips brush Crowley's ear.

_I'm here, Crowley. I'm here._

After a long while Crowley ceases his rapid shallow breathing and his eyes become focused and present.

_There’s nowhere to run, Angel. They can find us anywhere._

_Demons, perhaps. I doubt the Heavenly Host has a clue._

_They’ll figure it out eventually._

_How did Beelzebub know?_

_The disposable demons. They must report to her._

_Oh. Of course. Still, I fail to see how Michael and Gabriel could find us. What with Adam’s blocking of their Earth observation system._

Crowley looks thoughtful for some moments. Then:

_Aziraphale, I think we should continue the week here. Then send Eric and Hekla to Ammun’s apartment in London. Let him and Uriel be responsible for babysitting. Instead of us._

Aziraphale grins at the thought of Ammun’s consternation.

_Have I told you recently how much I love your demonic guile, Crowley?_

_‘S bout all I have going for me. Never could get into the pain and torment business much. Aggravation and annoyance are about all I can work up to._

_You haven’t lost your touch on that score. You’ve been tweaking Hekla ever since we first met her. Imagine how incompetent that makes me feel. Years of close association with a demon, and he still has all of his old bad habits intact and in working order. I’m a total failure as an angel._

_Thank Satan for that. Have I told you recently how much I love your refusal to be a self-righteous dick?_

_“Prevaricating bastard” is the term of endearment you seem to favor._

_M’yes. Describes you to a T._

_And I wouldn’t feel too sorry for yourself about being merely aggravating. I very much doubt you are surpassed in your talent for temptation._

_You say such sweet things, Aziraphale. Might I tempt you into giving me a massage?_

Aziraphale gives him a peck.

_Temptation accomplished._

The massage ends exactly as one might suppose. They don’t come out of Divine Ecstasy until long after breakfast.

* * *

Late morning. The disposable demons’ room. They’re out and about with Crowley and Aziraphale. The housekeeper enters, expecting the worst after the night porter’s note about possible drunkenness and partying going on last night. What she finds instead is a spotless room, the beds all made and taut, only a pair of purple silk pajamas and a lone empty gin bottle on a table betraying that anyone was here last night at all. She goes into the bathroom, notes the unused towels and toiletries. The robes in the otherwise empty closet are still in on their hangers. No luggage? Peers under the beds and decides it’s pointless to mop, and equally pointless to run a vacuum over the upholstery. Checks the empty waste baskets. Shrugs, leaves. Not your average bunch of students. Not by a long shot. Weird, to say the least. Not that she’s complaining, mind you.

* * *

Why is Beelzebub Asian? Chapter 47 of Volume 1 of The Big One.

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/50818378>


	9. Hot Tip in Hell

Hell. Publishing office of The Infernal Times. Demon reporter Thompson saunters in and assumes his half of the desk shared with Demon Malacoda. Gazes languidly about the room a bit, rolls a sheet of paper into his typewriter. Having thus pretended to begin work, he murmurs to Malacoda:

_When the fuck do you think we’ll ever get word processors like they have upside?_

_Dunno. Keeping the linotypes functioning is such a Hell thing – all that molten lead. Too damned useful._

_Ha ha. Too useful on the damned, you mean._

_Stale, Thompson. Very stale._

Satisfied that overly long ears have now tuned out after deciding that Thompson and Malacoda are just engaging in one of their usual gripes, Thompson lowers his voice to the slightest of whispers as he fingers his typewriter keys.

_Got a hot tip._

* * *

Hell. The disgusting lobby of the Infernal Cineplex. A somewhat translucent tall brunette damned woman exiting a theater corridor strolls over to Thompson, who is lounging against the wall opposite. Thompson looks skeptical.

_I got the word. Don’t tell me there’s some flick worth reporting on, babe._

_No. Same old shit. If I have to sit through “The Sound of Music” one more time, I may report to Recycling before my sentence is up._

_Nah. You won’t do that. You’ve gotten off pretty light. Surely you realize that?_

_Oh yes. Just whining._

_So. You have something for me?_

_Give me a cigarette._

Thompson reaches into his jacket, pulls out a packet of Dunhills, tips one out. The damned woman takes it and places it between her lips. Thompson doesn’t need a lighter. Ignites it for her with his fingertip. She takes a deep drag. Thompson waits until she exhales.

_So let’s hear it, hon._

She takes another drag. Then exhales and speaks in a low voice.

_Was walking toward a pack of those disposable demons. They were crowded around one of those little phones they use. They shut up when I got close._

Another drag. She lowers her voice even further.

_But I overheard one say, “Where’s Falmouth?” Where is Falmouth, anyway?_

Malacoda looks thoughtful.

_England. Coast of Cornwall._

_Why would anything be happening there?_

_Why, indeed? Good work, Reifenstahl. Another cig for you if this pans out._

Thompson strolls off. Demonic ushers come out with pitchforks and herd the damned back into the theaters. 

_Break’s over!_

Riefenstahl manages to smoke nearly down to the filter before a grinning demon takes the cigarette from her lips. Taunts her by finishing the last puff, tosses the butt onto the greasy and littered carpet.

* * *

Thompson mutters in the barest of whispers:

_Source overheard some disposable demons mention Falmouth._

_Falmouth? Where the fuck is that?_

_Coast of England._

The two silently lock eyes for a moment.

_Far from Tadfield?_

_Not that far._

Thompson opens a deep desk drawer. Surreptitiously magics his smartphone out of his jacket and into the drawer. Pretends to be fiddling around trying to find something as he spends a minute on Google Maps. Magics the phone back into his pocket. Checks the twin dials on his watch. Malacoda in the meantime appears to be idly gazing around the room, making sure no one is watching.

_Almost noon there now. Think I’ll pay a visit. You can cover for me?_

_You bet._

Thompson gets up, puts on his hat, exits the room. 

* * *

Meet Thompson and Malacoda in Chapter 81 of The Big One: Heaven Hacked

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53183260>


	10. Busted

Hell. Demon Thompson enters the Earth Transport Center. Presents his passport at the security station. Follows the corridor to the Europe departure gates, checking the board to see that the England gate is still the same as it has been since the 18th century. Exits the corridor into a room with a ceiling resembling a section of enormous glass globe as seen from below the surface. Floats up and flicks his fingers out close to Falmouth, expanding the globe to a local map. Considers the map for a moment, decides that he’ll be least likely to be spotted if he arises through the wooded area of the Pendennis Castle grounds. Taps the spot with his index finger, and seconds later is rising from the leafy mold. Removes his hat and dusts it off, brushes debris from his shoulders. Gets out his phone, decides that if that flash bastard Crowley is actually in Falmouth, he’ll most likely be at one of the swank hotels. Takes off walking along Castle Drive and then Cliff Road. Knows better than to inquire at hotel desks, instead slips into the parking garages in search of a vintage Bentley. Gets lucky on his second try.

Disposable Demon Jin recognizes Thompson’s distinctive appearance as he attempts to slip unseen from the parking garage to a place where he can surveille the hotel grounds and street. Gets out her phone and taps in a call.

Too late. Thompson spots Eric and Hekla standing on the walkway overlooking the shoreline vista. The stormy weather has passed, it’s a bright and sunny spring day. He gets his phone out and taps to start the video camera. Again he gets lucky – Eric and Hekla turn to regard one another, then Eric gives Hekla a kiss. Thompson zooms. Money shot! Quickly he emails the video to Malacoda. Trots across the roadway to confront the couple.

_Well, well, well. What have we here? Lovers enjoying their honeymoon?_

_Thompson!_

_Who is this, Eric?_

_Demon Thompson. Reporter for the Infernal Times._

Thompson holds up his phone.

_Smile now, for the camera._

And then his luck runs out. He’s made the mistake of equating Hekla to a disposable demon, forgetting how even a low-ranking angel is a formidable entity. Hekla takes one stride forward, drawing her flaming blue machete as she moves. Cleaves Thompson from collarbone to pelvis with one chop. He discorporates into a cloud of soot before she can land a second blow.

Jin comes running up.

_Eric! I called Demon Crowley! He says we are to leave immediately. Manny’s bring the car around. We’re to drop you two off at Tadfield Manor, then follow Crowley and Aziraphale to London._

* * *

Inside the demons’ Ford Fiesta. Eric’s driving, careening along at speed as he tries to keep up with the Bentley ahead. Manny, Jin, and London DeeDee are in the back seat. Jin, in the middle, is looking unhappy.

_Eric, do we have to go so fast? I’m feeling sick with all the tossing around we’re getting back here._

She leans forward and retches. Manny growls,

_Well at least demons don’t puke._

DeeDee nods in agreement.

_Yes. Not like those drunk humans._

_Fucking animals! I’m always torn between using power to clean up their mess or to smite them._

_Shut up, you two. You’re not helping any._

_I could punch you in the stomach, Jin. That would really give you something to moan about._

_Just try it, Manny._

She flicks her hand to give his crotch a brief zap.

_OW! Shit! You didn’t have to do that! I was just kidding!_

_Shut up._

They sit in scowling silence until finally arriving at Tadfield Manor. Eric and Hekla depart, Jin takes over as driver, DeeDee claiming shotgun. Manny reclines on the back seat and lights a joint with his fingertip.

_Anyone else want a drag?_

_Nah. ‘S all yours, Manny._

Catching up with Crowley now being impossible, Jin drives leisurely along. She likes the countryside. Relaxing. Most of her Earth assignments have been as an Asian peasant farmer. She feels right at home on the small lanes and agricultural land, and is in no hurry to get to the M40. DeeDee comments:

_Do you think Crowley and his angel will go out for Sunday dinner?_

_Hope so. I enjoy that particular Earth food._

_‘S bout the only thing I’ve ever seen Crowley really tuck into._

_He does pretty well with a full fry up._

Manny has finished his joint.

_I don’t suppose we have any crisps or anything in the car?_

_As a matter of fact, Manny . . ._

DeeDee opens the glove compartment an extracts a small bag of cheese puffs. Tosses it back to Manny. A moment later, crunching noises from the back seat.

Crowley and Aziraphale do indeed decide to go to the club for Sunday dinner. Their favorite corner banquette is miraculously available, as well as one a bit further away for their three bodyguards. Crowley has ordered the disposable demons to not draw attention by drinking alcohol, given their borderline underage appearance. Manny looks longingly for a moment as a waiter swoops by to deliver yet another glass of porter to Crowley, then shrugs his shoulders and takes a large forkful of Yorkshire pudding.

* * *

Hell. The front desk at the Reincorporation Ward. Thompson blinks into existence. He is translucent, tinted overall a light orangey red. The iguana-headed ward demon leans forward over his ledger.

_What happened this time, Thompson?_

_Angel attack._

_No shit? Second one this year already. What’s going on up there?_

_You can read all about it in the next edition of the Times._

_Yeah, well, fuck you, Thompson. Let’s get her nibs on the line._

The demon receptionist picks up the bakelite receiver from the forked cradle of the 1930s rotary phone on his desk, dials an extension. Waves to a disposable demon.

_Tell those two slackers in the canteen to pull up their fucking taproots and come back to their post._

The disposable demon scuttles away, yells, _“Front Desk!”_ through the canteen doorway as she runs past it to avoid getting discorporated by the two cranky security guards inside.

The guards saunter out and stand alongside Thompson. The ward demon hangs up the phone.

_Lucky you. She’s just one floor down, with Dagon. You’ll not wait long for your trip to the sulfur spa._

He jerks his head at the two guards.

_Take him to an interview room._

Beelzebub arrives on wings, her Praetorian Guard flying behind her over the bodies lying flattened in the corridor by the roasting shockwave preceding her approach. Alights and strides into the interview room. Exits a short while later. Snarls to the receptionist:

_Tell Dagon there’s no rush on the reincorporation paperwork._

Two guards escort Thompson off to the boiling sulfur pools for the usual torment for being careless enough to get discorporated.

Beelzebub strides through the dim and dirty corridors until reaching the portal to the Infernal Times. Slams open the doors, stalks over to the editor’s glass cubicle and enters. The editor leaps to his feet from his chair behind his desk, bows until he’s nearly parallel to the desktop. Says nothing, for Beelzebub must speak first.

_Thompson and Malacoda’s report was too late for today’s edition of the Times?_

_Yes, lord. Shall we run a special evening edition?_

_No. Next Sunday is fine. Put it in Society. Not on the front page._

_Lord, I heed your command._

Beelzebub turns and exits. The editor takes a deep breath. Holds it awhile before a lengthy sighing exhale. After a minute of intense thought, he goes to the door and motions to summon Malacoda out of the pool. The demon rises from his desk, slopes across the room and enters the cubicle. Unnoticed by either the editor or Malacoda, the door doesn’t quite close tightly behind him, prevented by a quick finger flick from a disposable demon stooping to pick a cigarette butt off the filthy floor. Another disposable demon dragging a sack joins her. They stoop unseen below the wainscoting to use hand brooms and dust pans to carefully clean the area surrounding the front of the cubicle.

_So, boss, was she thrilled by our scoop? Are we firing up the press for an evening edition?_

_Not exactly. Thompson got himself discorporated. She’s letting him stew awhile in the sulfur spa. We’ll be running your article in next week’s Society section._

_Next week? Society? Thompson gets fried in the line of duty, catching a fucking angel kissing a demon, and that’s all the space it gets?_

_Wheels within wheels, Malacoda. The Heavenly Host reads the Times._

Malacoda stands awhile trying to work through his chagrin. Then the light dawns.

_Ah. Aha. Giving ‘em a bit of a poke, is she?_

He switches to a languid voice:

_“Ho hum, yet another angel seduced by a handsome demon, enjoying a lovely holiday tryst at a coastal resort.”_

_You got it. Tell Travel to slap something together about the delights of Falmouth._ _And get Cuisine to do something about oysters. Or cockles. Or whatever the quaint crap it is that humans consume there._

_Dead brilliant, Ed. I hear Gabriel gets bent about celestial bodies consuming gross food matter. You ever eaten an oyster?_

The editor just glares at him. Malacoda mock salutes and exits. Thinks it’s too damned bad that Thompson couldn’t sneak back a bottle of gin.


	11. Arrest

One week later. Heaven. Dawn. Michael and two security angels enter Gabriel’s airy suite. Gabriel, as usual, is standing before the windows, overlooking the landscape of Earth’s monuments just beginning to light up in the rosy sunrise. He turns to the security angels with a questioning look.

_Let’s hear it._

_We can’t find Uriel. Or Hekla. Every time we try to enter Tadfield, we somehow wind up lost on a side lane. Or in a different village._

Michael regards the pair.

_You’ve used GPS navigation, surely?_

Gabriel wonders what that is, but remains silent.

_Of course. It misdirects us. Always._

_Have you tried simply riding a human bus into the village?_

_Yes. Trips get cancelled or turn around before reaching Tadfield. Taxis don’t work, either. Mysterious breakdowns._

Gabriel regards the group.

_Seems pretty clear that our little Antichrist is at work to keep angels out. Agreed?_

The other angels nod. Gabriel continues:

_Why haven’t we heard from Uriel?_

_Her phone appears to be not working._

_Is it possible she’s in danger in Tadfield? Being held hostage, or something?_

_She may simply have turned off her phone. Like Ammun does with his._

_M’yes. Contacts us when he feels like it. Stays incommunicado the rest of the time._

_He’s been doing that for at least a millennium and a half now. We shouldn’t be surprised._

_Shifty bastard. Some character flaw in principalities, you think?_

_There’s another possibility, Gabriel._

_That Uriel’s colluding with Aziraphale? Not reporting to Ammun? Pulling the wool over Mr. Former-Deity’s eyes?_

_Doubtful, Gabriel. My distinct impression is that she and Ammun get along well._

_Then what are you implying, Michael?_

Just then Baraquiel bursts in, holding the latest edition of the Infernal Times.

_Gabriel. Michael. You must see this immediately._

He has the paper folded to the Society section. Lays it on Gabriel’s desk, points to the quarter page photo of demon Eric kissing angel Hekla under the headline, _“Temptation Leads to Tryst.”_

Aghast silence as the executive angels read the article. Baraquiel wonders:

_Do you suppose they were eating . . . oysters?_

_What are oysters, Baraquiel?_

_Sea creatures. Slimy little gobs inside a shell._

Baraquiel points to a picture.

_This is what they look like raw._

Gabriel winces in disgust.

_Why am I not surprised that humans eat them._

_Lots of different ways, from the look of all these recipes._

_Baraquiel. Enough._

Baraquiel is undeterred. Points to a sidebar with a lascivious 18th century engraving.

_But Michael, this article here says humans consider oysters to be aphrodisiacs. You know how lustful humans are. Seems a pretty broad hint that Hell believes Hekla is doing more than smooching with a demon. Don’t you agree?_

_Barquiel!_

Silence all around. Gabriel makes a decision.

_Summon The Twins. We three were able to penetrate Aziraphale’s bookshop in Tadfield. No little Antichrist is going to keep me out. Uriel has some explaining to do._

* * *

Tadfield. Mid morning. Madame Tracy being at St. Cecil’s service with Mr. Pickersgill, Aziraphale being in London with Crowley, the bicycling group is down to three: Uriel, Hekla, and Eric. They stop and dismount outside the bookshop. DeeDee floats through the door, hops down the step and trots over to pull her bike from the rack. They all look in surprise as the bookstore doors open. The Archangel Gabriel and The Twins emerge onto the stoop between the pillars. DeeDee utters a sharp squeak and zooms away like a frightened sparrow.

_Halt._

Gabriel flicks his hand and discorporates Eric into a cloud of soot. Hekla screams and drops her bike.

_No!_

Hekla falls to the ground atop where Eric was, patting the pavement as if that might somehow find him. The Twins turn to Gabriel. 

_There was no need for that, Gabriel._

Gabriel is unconcerned.

_Just an imp. He’ll be reincorporated in Hell. Hekla won’t be seeing him again anyway. Arrest her._

Hekla is in shock. The twins easily approach her and gently lift her upright. Instead of manacling her hands behind her back as they did with Aziraphale, they stand either side of her, arms around her waist, each gently holding one of her hands.

Gabriel glares toward Uriel.

_You’re coming too, Uriel. Prepare for transport._

The five angels vanish in an upward swoosh. DeeDee, from her hiding place on the roof, frantically taps her phone to send the video she's just recorded.

* * *

Hell. The front desk at the Reincorporation Ward. Eric blinks into existence. He is a translucent pale orange. The iguana-headed ward demon leans forward over his ledger.

_Pretty natty outfit for a disposable demon. You one of that flash bastard Crowley’s platoon?_

Eric gasps out a whisper:

_Gabriel discorporated me._

_The Archangel Fucking Gabriel? You sure about that?_

Eric stands silent and confused, as if his memories are fading. The demon receptionist dials Beelzebub’s extension.

_A bad one, Lord. Disposable demon claims Archangel Gabriel fried him. . . . I heed your command, Lord._

The receptionist barks to the two security demons:

_You two! Get this one to her nibs’ office on the double. Suggest you fly._

The two guards drop their tea mugs, which shatter on the stone floor. Rush over to Eric, hold their hands against his shimmering shade as they might a balloon, levitate, and rocket off through the corridor.

* * *

Hell. Beelzebub’s office. She is standing behind her enormous desk. Flicks a finger to turn off the entry portal’s invisible heat curtain.

_Enter._

The guards cautiously push Eric ahead of them as they step through the massive ebony portal.

_You two leave._

The guards back out with alacrity, but stand listening just out of sight in the corridor. Watching the portal, they don’t notice a disposable demon peeping around the corner behind them.

Inside, Beelzebub flicks a finger and reincorporates Eric. He immediately kowtows.

_Disposable Demon Eric. Explain your discorporation._

_The Archangel Gabriel appeared. He gestured and I discorporated._

_Did he say anything?_

_No. He just came out of the bookshop . . ._

_What bookshop?_

_The Angel Aziraphale’s shop._

_In Tadfield?_

Eric pauses as if to think.

_Yes._

_What were you doing there?_

A ghost of happiness flits over Eric’s face.

_I was with Angel Hekla._

_Just you two?_

_And another angel._

_What other angel?_

_I . . . I don’t remember._

_The Angel Uriel, perhaps?_

_Yes. Uriel._

Beelzebub gestures to the corner to her left.

_Go sit in the corner. Turn your face to the wall._

Eric rises, backs away to the corner, crouches with his hands around his ankles and chin on his knees like an unhappy gargoyle. Slowly falls over until he’s leaning slumped against the wall. Occasionally his shoulders shake.

Beelzebub considers the video from the Tadfield disposable demon. Especially the behavior of The Twins. This can only get more interesting. Your move now, Crowley, you slippery little slacker.

* * *

Heaven. Gabriel’s office. Michael is waiting. Gabriel, the Twins, Uriel, and Hekla materialize. If angels could faint, Hekla looks as if she would. Gabriel goes over and stands beside his desk. Raises the copy of the Infernal Times so Uriel and Hekla can see the Society page. Points to the picture.

_Hekla. Tell me this reporting is not what it appears._

Hekla is consumed by grief, stands silent with her head down.

_Answer me, Hekla._

Silence.

Gabriel takes a step toward Hekla but The Twins draw close in front of her and glare at him. He frowns as if bewildered, then turns to Uriel.

_Uriel. Tell me that Hekla was not having lustful congress with a demon._

Uriel takes her cue from Hekla and stands with arms folded, glaring angrily Gabriel but remaining silent. Michael speaks.

_What happened down there, Gabriel?_

_We descended inside Aziraphale’s shop. No one was there. An imp was just leaving. We followed it outside. Uriel, Hekla, and another imp – the one in the photo -- were in the street. With some sort of wheeled machines._

_Bicycles?_

_Whatever. The first imp flew away. I discorporated the other one. Then we arrested Hekla, ordered Uriel to accompany us._

_Why did you discorporate the imp, Gabriel? Surely he was no danger._

_A demon that seduced an angel? Since when did we angels cease smiting such evil creatures? Did I miss a memo?_

_Why do you assume it was a seduction?_

_Michael. Aziraphale? Remember him? Surely you haven’t forgotten his fall to the wiles of the Demon Crowley?_

The Twins murmur, Dorri and Aida alternating voices as first one speaks, then the other.

_Principality Aziraphale loves the Demon Crowley. -- The Almighty has ordered that they not be interfered with. – We must consider the possibility that Aziraphale is redeeming the demon. – Bodily love among celestial beings is not a matter of lust, Gabriel. – Or have you forgotten?_

The Twins gaze at Gabriel with unblinking stares. He gets the hint. Grimaces, but says nothing. Goes behind his desk, where he sits in silent thought for a long uneasy while.

Michael’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit as she observes that something invisible has been communicated between The Twins and Gabriel. But she doesn’t know what. Remembers the lighting about-face he did after receiving that mysterious phone call. Instead of punishing them with a spell in Housekeeping, he’d handed them that plum assignment in Shanghai with their friend Xuanwu. And then destroyed their phones. 

Gabriel taps a corner of his desk.

_Baraquiel. Come in._

A moment later, Gabriel’s executive assistant bustles through the entry, tablet and stylus in hand.

_Initiate the transfer forms for Uriel to be assigned to Housekeeping. Length of posting indeterminate. Michael, I believe you suggested a while back that Hekla be assigned to Metatron’s floor?_

_Yes._

_Baraquiel. Forms for Hekla as entry level clerk under Metatron. Summon security to escort Hekla and Uriel to their posts. You may all leave now._

* * *

For those just tuning in, prior chapters in Volume One of _The Big One_ describe exactly what The Twins have on Gabriel:

Chapter 43: Another Art Installation <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/50641286>

Chapter 56: Beelzebub and Gabriel <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/51331243>

Chapter 72: Command and Control <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/52592365>

Chapter 84: Evgeny Takes Charge <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53429923>

Chapter 85: A Miracle, Maybe <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53473588>


	12. Commando

London. Earlier that morning. Uriel and Ammun’s apartment above their freight warehouse. Ammun’s burner phone is blowing up. He flips it open.

_Adam. What’s up._

_DeeDee just called. Uriel and Hekla have been taken to Heaven by the Archangel Michael and those Twins. Eric was discorporated. I can’t reach Crowley._

_It’s Sunday. Bastard’s probably fookin’ his angel. Looks like this one’s up to us, kid. Give me a moment to think. I’ll call you right back._

Ammun strides around the apartment. Gets a half-empty bottle of gin from the cupboard, drinks the remainder in one long go. He’s had a couple of millennia worth of experience as a raider and commando, and it doesn’t take him long to piece together a strategy and tactics.

_Ah._

Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he calls Adam back.

_Have DeeDee summon your little Baepsae platoon. Here’s what we’ll do . . ._

* * *

Heaven. Gabriel’s airy suite overlooking the fabulous vista of Earth. Uriel has gradually positioned herself close to the windows, gazing outward as if in boredom while Gabriel sits at his desk and works out what actions to take. She taps her gold and diamond Apple watch as if idly checking the time, stares fixedly at it for a moment, then resumes gazing out the window. Gabriel’s words, _“You may all leave now,"_ are barely out of his lips when Uriel dives through the window into the air outside, unfurling her wings as she plummets downward.

None of the other angels can do this fade-through-walls trick. They all stand gaping. Michael is the first to move. Gets out her phone.

_Security! Send a platoon to surround the building. Watch for the angel Uriel. Capture her._

Too late. Identical grey Ford Fiesta Olas crowd the streets surrounding the H&H Main Office. Uriel sees the fleet of little cars, recognizes what they are. The disposable demon drivers watch as the angel with green wings dives down the side of the building like a stooping falcon. The passenger door of the vehicle closest to Uriel’s likely landing opens. She brakes her wings, tucks them, and dives into the car. The vehicles scatter like a swarm of rats as security angels in white track suits spill out of the building. Beneath an underpass, evidently stalled and marked with orange cones and tape, a delivery lorry is parked. An Ola pulls up behind, Uriel vaults from it and through the closed freight doors at the back. The Ola proceeds through the underpass as if it had not stopped at all. A quarter of an hour later, the cones and tape vanish, and the delivery van trundles off. Destination: Edinburgh.

* * *

Three days later. Heaven. Metatron’s 13th floor of the Main Office. Doric pillars in gleaming gold mark the entry to the immense library of personnel scrolls for ten million angels. Acres of scribes in flowing white gowns sit on benches before cramped desks with small 45-degree writing platforms, busily inscribing scrolls with varicolored inks and gilding. Courier scribes pass along the ranks, dropping off and picking up scrolls. Although conversations are carried on in a whisper, there is nonetheless a persistent background rustle and hum. On a bench at a shabby little desk in a remote corner, Hekla sits with her arms folded on the writing platform, weeping. Her supervisor and the section head glide down the pathway to her corner and stand beside her desk. Her supervisor leans over her, places a gentle arm across her shoulder.

_Hekla, my dear. This weeping must stop. It is not good for you. Is there anything we can do to make your transition to our department easier?_

Hekla sits up, unfocused pale blue eyes gazing into an unseen distance. A brief flicker of consciousness, then:

_I would like to be a sweeper._

The two senior angels regard one another. They are not cruel and demanding creatures. The section head purses her lips, then murmurs:

_I see no objection to that. Better to be moving around than sitting weeping. And it will accustom you to our organizational layout._

She turns to Hekla’s supervisor:

_Call Housekeeping. Request the appropriate uniform and tools for Hekla._

Turning to Hekla, she murmurs,

_Report to Housekeeping for your gear, Hekla, and then return here. Let us know when you feel able to begin filing._

The two senior angels leave. As they approach the arch of the section entryway, the executive whispers to the supervisor:

_Tch. Terribly tragic case, that. Imagine. Congress with a human, then a demon. She’s lucky she wasn’t sent to join The Fallen._

Words fail the supervisor. He can only shake his head.

* * *

Hekla, for the first time since her arrival, reaches inside her hoodie pocket in her bicycling outfit beneath her scribe’s robe. Turns her back to the room, checks messages. There are two. The first is from Principality Ammun:

_Uriel safe. DeeDee says Eric in Beelzebub office. Courage._

The second is from Demon Crowley:

_Storage._

A puzzled frown. Then her posture straightens. She gazes into the distance for a long while. Then rises from her bench and strides toward the freight elevators.

* * *

Heaven. First floor storage. A lone sweeper trundles a rolling bin along a dim corridor. It’s Hekla. She approaches a heavy metal door at the very end. Taps in the key code. It hasn’t been changed. 4227435. She shoulders the door to push it open, pulls her bin inside. 

* * *

Heaven. Metatron’s floor. Between the golden pillars towering above the entry to the vast scroll library. A sweeper with a broom rolls a bin across the marble floor and past the reception desk. The scribe in charge barely looks up. Just a housekeeper. He’s engrossed in the hot new scroll of the underground serial novel, _Acer Feel: The Memoirs of an Angel of Pleasure,_ in which the hero has (yet again) been captured and imprisoned in the lair of the fiery-haired demonatrix Antonia. Seeing the Head Librarian sailing through a distant doorway and approaching for the daily session of Management by Walking Around, he rolls up a scroll with end caps titled _Annals of the Accountants MMXIX,_ concealing the illicit fiction within. The sweeper has disappeared into the stacks, unnoticed.

* * *

For those just tuning in, we first meet Uriel and Ammun in early chapters of volume one of _The Big One:_

Chapter 7: Uriel <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/48889778>

Chapter 9: Midnight Confession <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/48946574>

Chapter 13: Sheep Go To Heaven <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49073372>

Chapter 18: Jinn <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49296404>


	13. Going Postal

Heaven. Metatron’s 13th floor. The far back wall of the great library of personnel scrolls wherein all the deeds and histories of ten million angels are recorded. Hekla, in her Housekeeper uniform, stands next to her wheeled bin, staring back through the dim stacks in the direction of the now invisible entrance. She’s been silently standing here for over an hour. 

Finally, she stops breathing. Tips open the bin lid. Bends to reach inside to lift out a covered tripod cauldron. The average human would find this awkward, as the cauldron is bronze and extremely heavy. It was cast in ancient China nearly three millennia ago, decorated with writhing serpentine phoenix/dragon patterns. Hekla hoists the caldron by its sturdy ears, sets it upon the marble floor. 

The angel regards the cauldron for some long moments. Then crouches and grasps two of the cauldron’s tripod legs and lifts it to waist level. Again, because she has angelic strength, this is easy for her. Tilting the cauldron outward, she tips it until the lid crashes to the floor. A gout of hellfire erupts, quickly spiraling outward until it’s a huge 20 meter tornado of flame.

Hekla turns and, walking backward, plays her hellish flamethrower over the stacks. The scrolls and shelves ignite instantly, spreading the fire to adjacent stacks. She works methodically across and outward through the library. By the time she reaches the entrance, it is miraculous how she herself is not alight in the roaring explosion of flame bursting through the columns at the library entrance.

She doesn’t stop. Works her way around the perimeter of the floor. Furnishings and scrolls explode like dry timber in a crown fire. A few angels have fled through the elevators, the rest fly like darting pigeons upward and downward via the escalator shaft in the center of the floor. Hekla is careful to make sure they’ve all escaped before she herself takes the down escalator, flying on her fairy tern wings. Angels shriek and flee as she spirals downward toward the first floor. Some of the human Elect stand gawping and have to be dragged away before they get extinguished. The angels doing the dragging are not gentle about it.

Hekla alights at the top of the escalator to the lobby. Pauses a brief moment, as if making a decision. Then, still holding her flamethrower before her, steps onto the escalator and stands straight and unmoving as she descends to the ground floor. Michael blinks into appearance and shouts angrily to the crowd of security angels cowering away from the escalator well.

_Stop her!_

Two guards run up with their crossbows and fire. Their aim is excellent. Two bolts penetrate Hekla’s back between her shoulder blades. She discorporates in a glittering cloud. The cauldron crashes and tumbles into the down escalator to Hell. Lands with the tornado flaming up the escalator, melting the stairs as it continues to roar. The lobby fills with roiling black smoke.

* * *

London. A nondescript office building in a rundown northern suburb. Triple S Security. Evgeny comes running into Bohdan’s computer lab. Bohdan taps a few keys, and the video display reruns.

_Look at this! She’s carrying some weird flamethrower down the escalator. Then she explodes!_

_No body. Just fairy dust. Interesting._

An incoming call icon appears on one of Bohdan’s screens. Bohdan enables the video conference.

_Crowley. You saw the clip? What was this all about?_

_Angel Hekla seems to have gotten the hint I sent her. That’s a Hellfire cauldron she’s carrying. She was assigned to work as a file clerk in the personnel department. Guessing she may have torched quite a few records there._

_What’s Hellfire?_

_Supernatural flames. Stuff they tried to kill Aziraphale with. The heavenly jackasses kept the cauldron in storage after that murder attempt. Instead of returning it to Hell. Hekla knew where it was._

_Was this a suicide?_

_Doubtful. We’ll have to see how she’s reincorporated to find out._

_The fire didn’t kill her?_

_Nope. Look close – she’s been shot from behind. Angels use crossbows._

Evgeny and Bohdan peer at the screen as Bohdan pauses and enlarges the critical seconds.

_Her own family shot her?_

_Yep._

There’s a pause in the conversation. Then Evgeny ‘s monotone:

_We still have those zero days._

_Good. Burn it up. What if they try to run backups?_

Bohdan grins as he replies:

_They only think they have backups._

* * *

Hell. Dagon and a squad of Praetorian Guards contemplate the now empty cauldron at the base of the melted and twisted escalator. Beelzebub saunters up from around the corridor. Dagon turns to her:

_Got it extinguished. Good thing I happened to be close by. Escalator’s a mess, obviously. Where did this Hellfire cauldron come from, anyway?_

Beelzebub stands over the cauldron, leans down a bit to examine it.

_It’s the one I sent up to extinguish the angel Aziraphale in punishment for preventing Armageddon. The angels did not return it._

_How did it wind up getting thrown down our steps? And where is its lid?_

Malacoda trots up and bows obsequiously.

_Lord Beelzebub. Lord Dagon. Do you have any statement at this time?_

Beelzebub merely glances at him.

_I await your draft. Dagon, come with me._

Beelzebub turns and walks back down the corridor, Dagon at her side.

The guards look expectantly at Malacoda. He gets out his somewhat crumpled pack of Marlboros and tips out a cigarette for each. There’s just enough for the guards, but none left for him. He crumples the carton and drops it to join the rest of the debris on the floor. The guards all light up using their fingertips, and take a deep drag. Malacoda takes a pen from behind his ear and poises it over his reporter’s notebook.

While the guards and Malacoda converse, a disposable demon peeps down from the cavity of the wrecked escalator. She listens carefully, unseen by the oblivious demons below. After the group leaves, she scoots through the clouds of smoke still lingering in the lobby, slips out the door. A grey Ford Fiesta Ola is waiting. She hops inside and it peels off.

* * *

Heaven. Quartermaster’s floor. St. Isidore and a group of bearded tech angels come running up to the angel’s desk.

_Quartermaster! The demons have hacked our computer system again! The personnel database is gone! They’ve taken remote control of our servers and are wiping drives. . ._

Another angel comes running up, hopping up and down and from side to side in attempts to breach the wall of backs surrounding Quartermaster. Her incorporation is a small young Asian woman, with uncharacteristically chocolate skin and fluffy curly black locks.

_St. Isidore . . . Quartermaster . . ._

St. Isidore glances at her.

_Not now, child._

_But . . ._

She falls silent. Turns and walks off.


	14. Relics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally a chapter in Crowley Gets a New Look. Decided there wasn't anything in it that an older teen couldn't handle.  
> Ridiculous fun? Perhaps. But it also relates to an ongoing theme in the plot.

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Crowley and Aziraphale come through the entry, magic their overcoats off into the closet. A smug smile flits across Aziraphale’s face.

_Frivolous miracles never grow old for you, do they, Angel?_

_The more the merrier, I say._

_You should send a week’s spreadsheet to Michael some time._

Aziraphale grimaces and shudders as if he’s just tasted an especially nasty pickled something or other. Turns toward their couch in the lounge, but Crowley puts an arm around his waist and escorts him to the bedroom instead. Understanding why Crowley has been exceptionally clingy of late, Aziraphale doesn’t object. Before they can magic into their dressing gowns, Crowley seats Aziraphale at the base of the bed.

_Let me undress you. It’s like slowly opening a delightful present._

Crowley snaps his fingers, his clothes transform into his dark silk dressing gown with the deep red lining and the snake pattern that seems to writhe as the fabric drapes and moves. Genuflects to unlace Aziraphale’s boots. Slips his hands up the angel’s trouser legs to loosen and remove garters and stockings. Rises and sits on the edge of the bed, loosens and removes the gold velvet bow tie and gold winged cufflinks. Slips Aziraphale’s jacket off his shoulders and arms. Slides his hands under the Fair Isle sweater and pulls it over the angel’s head. Slips the braces off Aziraphale’s shoulders. Unbuttons the angel’s shirt. 

_Mmm. Stand up, Angel._

Aziraphale obliges. Crowley unbuttons the angel’s trouser fly. Runs his hands over Aziraphale’s wooly chest before sliding off the braces, shirt, silk boxers, and trousers to join the rest of the ensemble in the closet. Sits Aziraphale down again, kneels and gently pries apart the angel’s habitually-closed thighs, lays his head against Aziraphale’s giblets, arms around the angel’s hips. Aziraphale feels as if a hot water bottle has been placed in his lap. He puts one soft cold hand upon Crowley’s shoulder, pets and strokes the demon’s hair with the other.

After a moment, Crowley rises and sits alongside Aziraphale.

_Remember when we sat together sunning ourselves on the wall above the Eastern Gate?_

The demon plucks at the angel’s platinum pubic hair.

_First time I got to see your beautiful welcome mat._

Crowley has pulled out a few hairs. Holding them up in one hand, into the other hand he magics a small glass bottle about half-filled with platinum fuzz. Floats the stopper off, places the hairs inside, re-stoppers the vial and magics it back into storage.

_Crowley! What on earth are you doing?_

_Saving your pubic hairs. S’always seemed somehow sacrilegious to just torch them. You being holy and all. And they’re so pretty. Like spun silver._

_Souvenirs of good times?_

_Relics, you might say._

_Crowley, you are such a delightful ass._

Aziraphale has fallen back onto the bed, his plump belly shaking with laughter. He can’t stop. Laughs until he starts to gasp. Draws up his knees, rolls onto his side further up the bed. Bursts into laughter again. Laughs . . . and laughs. . . Rolls onto his back again. Laughs . . . and laughs . . . and laughs. . .

Crowley has lain down upon his side, resting on a cocked elbow with head in hand as he regards this spectacle. Never has he witnessed Aziraphale laugh uncontrollably. Normally the angel merely chuckles, or gives a short laugh and then stops as if worried someone might see him having fun.

_Ooof . . . Getting a cramp._

Deep gasps. A final giggle as Crowley’s warm hand caresses the soft pillow of Aziraphale’s stomach. The angel turns his head toward Crowley. A broad smile is spread across the demon’s face, golden snake eyes half-closed in benign amusement.

_Feeling better?_

_Oh yes. Thank you. I needed that._

Aziraphale take a deep breath and hiccups to derail an oncoming giggle. Turns his face upward and closes his eyes as he smiles even more broadly than Crowley. The demon continues to caress the angel’s chest as he speaks.

_Remember our first night together in this bed?_

_I shall never forget it, Crowley. You feel asleep. I sat at the foot and drank scotch. Flared my wings and did basic guarding._

_Not that night, you idiot. The night we discovered Divine Ecstasy._

_Well. Of course I shall never forget that, either._

_I was so nervous. The night before, when I fell asleep, I was exhausted._

_Indeed. That run-up to Armageddon was no picnic._

_And stopping time really takes it out of you. I remember you kissing me on the forehead, though, as I was just dropping off._

_Oh. I thought you were already asleep._

_Nope. Next night, though, I was desperate to be close to you. Was so afraid you’d trundle off to your bookshop and I’d be left to myself, alone again. Never really got over that ache of loneliness when you disappeared from the wall. What got me through the next 6000 years was running into you as often as possible._

Crowley smiles dreamily.

_The Arrangement was magic. Both of us finally figuring out how to avoid doing whatever it was we were supposed to be doing._

_Incompetence squared._

Crowley regards him.

_I’m not so sure about that. Did you ever really want to be a _competent_ angel?_

_Well ye- . . ._

Aziraphale starts to reply, then pauses and thinks for a long moment.

_Actually, what I longed for was to be treated as if I were competent. Not a total fool. But I always somehow failed to behave in the approved manner._

_Because, in fact, you’re not a fool at all._

_And you’re far more powerful than you let on. Stopping time isn’t an ordinary angel’s party trick._

Crowley is silent for a while. Then he shivers.

_I was terrified that if I touched you intimately, you’d get indignant and reject me. Had to buck myself up by pretending I was performing a Temptation._

_So that’s why you flung yourself atop me so violently?_

_Yep._

_Well your Temptation sensor wasn’t wrong. I’d never felt so chuffed as after that hug you gave me at the end of our picnic. And when you leaped on top of me in bed that night, I felt as if every atom of fear drained away in a flood. And then, of course . . ._

_Was that ever a surprise, eh?_

The both gaze downward at their growing erections.

_My word, yes. I never even thought that we could that._

_I did. After watching Adam and Eve. But nothing ever happened for me. So I gave up trying. Figured celestial bodies just didn’t work the same. Although thinking of you did give me a nice twitch every now and again._

Aziraphale looks shifty. Then admits:

_Me, too. But of course we would have been extinguished had we let things go further._

_Yep. Total extinction is a definite boner-killer._

They turn heads and regard one another.

This time Aziraphale rolls atop Crowley, thrusting has hands through the demon’s hair as he violently kisses him. Crowley reciprocates the kiss. Several seconds later, the demon’s knees raise and his toes curl up. Aziraphale buries his ecstatic face atop Crowley’s shoulder. They levitate a few inches.

No waiting on Divine Ecstasy this time, either.

\--------------------------------

First time was in the short story at the beginning of this series, _You Can Stay at My Place if You Like._

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380840/chapters/51334303>


	15. Tyger, Tyger

Heaven. Three days later. Gabriel’s airy office overlooking the monuments of Earth. He’s alone, standing looking out the window. Goes over to his desk, taps a corner of it.

_Hold all visitors, Baraquiel._

Turning his back to entry and windows, he surreptitiously takes a red phone from his inner suit jacket pocket. Frowns. Grimaces. Then taps the screen once. Looks relieved when it answers.

_Messenger Boy._

_Prince. Has Angel Hekla turned up in your administration?_

_No. Gone missing, has she?_

_Perhaps. She hasn’t appeared for reincorporation. Yet._

_My, my. Metatron’s library completely destroyed. And yet Angel Hekla has not been sent to join The Fallen. Seems The Almighty judges the total loss of your archives to not be a damnable deed, eh, Messenger Boy?_

_I do not presume to interpret The Almighty’s actions. She is ineffable._

_Have you found the lid to our cauldron yet? We want it back._

Gabriel pauses, as if having difficulty framing a reply.

_Our staff is unable to safely enter the floor. Spots of Hellfire still burning._

_Want me to send up a crew?_

_Might be a good idea if you want your cauldron lid back. Valuable relic, is it?_

_Wasn’t such a good idea to steal it, was it?_

_We believed it to be a gift._

_And now you know how mistaken you were. I’ll send up a detail. Now fuck off._

Gabriel grimaces as the connection is broken. Stows the phone back in his jacket. 

* * *

About an hour later. Michael and The Twins are confronting Gabriel, who stands as if blandly unconcerned. Michael speaks:

_Prince Dagon and a squad of imps have appeared in the lobby. Carrying that cauldron that Hekla pitched down their escalator. Say they want the lid back. Can extinguish the library Hellfire for us._

_Dagon? Lord of the Files? Pretty high-ranking emissary. Probably best not to keep her waiting._

_Gabriel, this is unprecedented. How do we even escort them up 13 floors?_

_Elevators not working?_

_What makes you think they’ll stop at the 13 th floor? If Dagon can extinguish Hellfire, she can also summon it._

The Twins speak as one, alternating sentences.

_Tell Dagon we will have Holy Water squads stationed at all floors save the 13 th. . . . We don’t have that much Holy Water, of course, but she doesn’t know that. . . . We have enough for first through twelfth floors, can move those squads to track the elevator if it goes past thirteen._

Gabriel beams at The Twins.

_Excellent. Dorri, go greet Dagon and inform her of the protocol. Aida, make the arrangements with your staff. Dismissed._

The Twins turn to go, but before they can leave, The Portal to The Almighty irises open. The four angels immediately face The Portal and fall to their knees, hands in prayerful supplication.

* * *

Some minutes earlier, inside The Portal. A translucent Angel Hekla lies prostrate on the floor, in a lifeless posture as if her celestial body had fallen in death instead of exploding into sparkling light. A blue effulgence floods the chamber.

ANGEL HEKLA. RISE.

Hekla pushes herself onto her knees, then stands, somewhat bonelessly, eyes downcast, hands at her side.

YOU DESTROYED SERAPHIM METATRON’S 6 MILLENIA OF RECORDS.

Hekla merely nods. Her hands remain at her side. Not together in prayer.

YOU DO NOT REPENT THIS DESTRUCTIVE DEED.

Hekla shakes her head. If a plunge into the boiling sulfur Lake of Fire is the price of finding Eric again, so be it.

GOOD JOB. 

Hekla is reincorporated as a tall young man. Same golden skin. Same icy eyes. White hair, now halfway down his back in a Viking braid. No longer sporting the snowy wings of a fairy tern; instead, the black, angular wings of a frigate bird. Court dress for The Presence is no longer the standard white angel’s chiton. Instead, he’s appareled in a long-sleeved silken tunic reaching just above the knee over close-fitting trousers. Embroidered keyhole neck opening, elaborately woven cincture and slim upper calf garters, soft leather boots with lacing around the ankles. All these details are hard to discern, however, because the whole costume is a black so fuliginous that it appears to absorb all light. The tunic margins eerily float and fade as if the angel were aloft and robed in moonless night sky. 

HERE ARE YOUR ORDERS.

A small scroll with gold calligraphy appears before the angel:

FIND YOUR DEMON ERIC

The scroll rolls itself up. Hekla takes it.

The blue effulgence vanishes. Hekla turns and walks out through The Portal.

* * *

The four kneeling executive angels gawp as Hekla steps through the liquid Portal, then jump to their feet as it irises shut.

Hekla raises the gilt-edged scroll clutched in his hand. Gabriel murmurs,

_You have orders from The Almighty, Hekla?_

As if this were a question too stupid to merit a reply, Hekla silently walks past the group and exits. Flares his wings and flies to the bank of elevators. Aida is off the mark like a falcon, and follows him closely. The pair lands and an elevator opens. Aida steps in alongside Hekla.

_I will escort you down, so no one interferes with you._

* * *

Gabriel, Michael, and Dorri regard one another. Michael speaks first.

_I’ll go meet Dagon. Dorri, summon security staff to accompany me. And get those holy water squads in place. Gabriel?_

_I await your reports._

Michael and Dorri zoom off.

* * *

H&H skyscraper, main lobby. Michael and twelve security angels descend the escalator and stand before Dagon. Michael extends her arms slightly, makes a slight bow.

_Prince Dagon. We thank you for your offer of assistance in extinguishing the Hellfire still burning on our 13 th floor. _

Dagon reciprocates the slight bow, 

_We want our stolen property back._

_Ah. Yes. An unfortunate misunderstanding. If you will accompany me, Prince, we have an elevator that will take you to Floor 13. I must caution you to stop at no other floor. We have Holy Water squads stationed at all other exits. Surely you understand this need for security._

_Noted. Lead on._

Michael is hoping to get Dagon and crew into an elevator before Hekla appears, but no such luck. Doors open, Hekla strides from an elevator, Aida at his side. Aida glances at Michael and Dagon, but Hekla marches toward the down escalator as if no one else were present. Dagon gestures to two disposable demons, who rocket off and fly down the escalator seconds ahead of Hekla.

Hekla stands a moment, draws his flaming blue machete. Then, as if making a decision, vanishes the weapon back into storage. Steps onto the down escalator.

Dagon speaks first:

_That is a command scroll he is carrying._

Michael nods. An elevator opens.

_Your elevator, Prince Dagon._

Dagon and her squad enter. The door closes and the elevator rises. Stops at 13. Michael turns to the security angels.

_You’ve set the elevator to wait?_

The angel lieutenant holds a hand to his earpiece, then replies.

_Affirmative. Elevator has been parked._

Time passes. Apparently extinguishing Hellfire on such a vast floor is not the work of a mere moment.

* * *

Hell. Two disposable demons fly on their little black sparrow wings, talking on their phones as they zip down the corridor toward Beelzebub’s office. The pair alight before the Praetorian Guards outside the giant ebony portal.

_A black angel is coming down the escalator! Tell Lord Beelzebub!_

Six guards vault off toward the escalator. The remaining two enter the portal and stand just inside it, bowing low.

_Lord Beelzebub. An angel has entered Hell. We are escorting it here._

_About time. Leave._

The guards back out the portal, regard one another when out of sight in the corridor.

_Like she was expecting it or something._

_Satan’s sins, here it comes now. It’s all black! Newly Fallen, do you suppose?_

_Don’t those get pitched into the Lake of Fire?_

_Dunno. ‘S been awhile. Maybe procedure’s changed?_

The guards stand before Hekla, then gesture toward the portal, which continues to shimmer with lesser-demon-frying heat. Hekla passes through it unscathed. The two guards exchange significant looks.

Beelzebub rises and stands with her hands upon her ebony desk. 

_Angel Hekla. Approach._

Hekla’s face betrays his fear. Beelzebub’s eyes are glowing with demonic hatred and heat ripples from her. Nonetheless the angel steps forward, extends his arms, and bows low. Focused on Beelzebub, he does not see Eric stirring in the corner behind him.

_You are here by command of The Almighty?_

Hekla holds up the scroll. Flinches as Beelzebub flicks a finger and flames burn the scroll to a cloud of ash that drifts to the floor.

_I seek Demon Eric._

Beelzebub doesn’t speak, merely gestures to the disposable demon now standing in the corner. Hekla turns to regard Eric. He gazes back as if he’s not sure who the angel is. Fear and confusion play across his face.

_Approach the angel, Demon Eric._

Eric does as ordered. Stands puzzled before Hekla, as if desperately trying to remember something. The angel gazes at him with unblinking pale blue eyes. Then:

_You are the Angel Hekla._

Hekla nods.

_You are very beautiful._

Eric smiles.

_And I love you._

Hekla embraces him. Eric clings to the angel as if he’s afraid he’ll sink through the floor. Then his head turns to regard Beelzebub. His eyes flare spectral green for the briefest of moments, but Beelzebub catches it.

She snarls in fury, her hands burning holes into her desktop. Gestures with a clenched fist. Hekla and Eric vanish.

Beelzebub screams. It reverberates throughout Hell. Demons drop whatever they’re doing and cower on the floor. They haven’t heard such a cry of despair for nearly two millennia, and it terrifies them. Her desk bursts into flames.

Disposable demons flee like hornets, clearing the corridors ahead of them as Beelzebub flies toward the Chamber of the Dark Council in Pandemonium. Lucifer has heard her cry, and is seated on the dais in his form as a marble statue. Beelzebub flies into the empty and echoing hall, zooms toward Lucifer, flings herself upon his statue and instantly discorporates. Her translucent apparition as a beautiful young man sobs and writhes in agony on the floor before the dais.

_Beloved. Cease this._

Beelzebub shudders, then rises to stand unsteadily before Lucifer.

_Lord. The Almighty sent the Angel Hekla to me. His disposable demon lover remembered him. How is monstrous Legion permitted to have an angelic lover, but we are still kept apart?_

_Did not this angel Hekla destroy mighty Metatron’s archive?_

_Yes, Lord. And The Heavenly Host cannot replace it. Because Demon Crowley destroyed their electronic copy._

Lucifer considers a long moment. Then murmurs:

_The Almighty did not send Hekla to join The Fallen. And She continues to disregard Demon Crowley’s depredations against the Heavenly Host. What do you make of that?_

Beelzebub thinks. Then:

_Lord. This Angel Hekla and Demon Eric were accomplices in Demon Crowley’s utter extinction of four of our demons._

_What about this murderous deed was so worthy that it allowed forgiveness for the destruction 6,000 years of angelic history?_

Beelzebub contemplates for some long while. Then the links connect. Daji had seduced Hekla with a promise of love.

_Lord. Was Demon Daji punished for her betrayal of Hekla’s love?_

_And Legion has been permitted to love this angel Hekla. As Demon Crowley has been permitted to love his angel Aziraphale. Do you detect the pattern here?_

_Lord. The Fallen and the Heavenly Host are punished if they interfere with love between demons and angels? First Gabriel. Then Daji. Then Metatron._

Beelzebub is now standing erect and alert. Lucifer continues:

_Perhaps not Metatron specifically. The entire Heavenly Host is affected by the destruction of their archive. Gabriel and Michael must surely be considering this to be an admonishment to the way they are administering their organization._

_Lord. Gabriel was the one who discorporated Demon Eric and captured the Angel Hekla to bring back to Heaven._

_Indeed. And you were the one who allowed them to reunite._

The mere thought of Gabriel and Michael being sent meteoring down into the Lake of Fire cheers Beelzebub, despite her jealousy of Eric.

Lucifer, however, somberly reflects how he must reincorporate his lover into what The Almighty is sure to transform into some humiliating low creature or other. 

_Beloved. I must reincorporate you. Prepare yourself._

Lucifer transforms into the enormous lava-skinned horned Satan. Gestures. Beelzebub reincorporates into a giant tiger with black wings in the style of a harpy eagle. She roars. Then shimmers into her human form, still a tall copper-skinned Asian woman in the same tailored suit as before, only now black and draped in a tiger skin, paws tied across her chest, head and fanged upper jaw as a helmet. Mongol eyes glow orange as if from an inner fire.

* * *

_Tyger Tyger, burning bright,  
In the forests of the night;  
What immortal hand or eye,  
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?  
  
In what distant deeps or skies.  
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  
On what wings dare he aspire?  
What the hand, dare seize the fire?  
  
And what shoulder, & what art,  
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?  
And when thy heart began to beat,  
What dread hand? & what dread feet?  
  
What the hammer? what the chain,  
In what furnace was thy brain?  
What the anvil? what dread grasp,  
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!  
  
When the stars threw down their spears  
And water'd heaven with their tears:  
Did he smile his work to see?  
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?  
  
Tyger Tyger burning bright,  
In the forests of the night:  
What immortal hand or eye,  
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?_

_\--William Blake_

* * *

Chapter 47 of _The Big One: Transformation_ describes Beelzebub’s previous reincorporation from a black fly to an iridescent damselfly.

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/50818378>

Eric’s relationship to Hekla develops from:

Chapter 76: Angels and Demons <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/52865962>

Chapter 87: A Very Bad Date <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53764894>

Chapter 88: Not a Rabbit <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53794444>

Chapter 89: Aftermath [https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53843743 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53843743)

Chapter 91: Platoon <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53977993>


	16. Escapees

London. Crowley, Evgeny, and Bohdan are gathered in Bohdan’s computer lab, reviewing the lobby camera recordings of the black angel Hekla crossing the lobby and descending into Hell. Crowley gets out his phone, taps in a call.

_DeeDee. Eric never left Beelzebub’s office, did he? . . . I doubt Eric and Hekla are just going to walk out. But let me know immediately if that happens. Ciao._

He turns to the other two men.

_Those who enter Beelzebub’s office seldom exit in the same shape as they went in._

_Think they’ll be in bad condition?_

_I’m not talking about condition._

Evgeny and Bohdan silently lock eyes. Several tense minutes pass, then Bohdan murmurs as he gets out his vaporizer and offers another to Crowley.

_By the way, something unusual happened as we were wiping Heaven’s servers. Someone tried to stop us. First time, that._

_Surely they didn’t succeed?_

_Nyet. But it was a clever try. And they’ve been installing patches since. But today activity stopped._

_Hm. Any way to reach out and establish a back channel connection?_

_Tried already. No response._

_Pass that bag of crisps, Bohdan._

Bohdan hands Crowley the bag of their favorite white cheddar cheese puffs. Evgeny gets up.

_Leysa’s coming in for an extended report._

He exits. Bohdan and Crowley vape and munch as they monitor the screens and Bohdan checks in with his correspondents. Oddly, they don’t appear the least bit stoned.

Bohdan sits up suddenly as a message scrolls across a screen:

_I know how you did it. Meet me outside the Main Office._

* * *

A horse farm in The Cotswolds. Hekla and Eric blink into existence in the middle of a distant field. Maintaining his tight hug of Eric, Hekla glances around, shrugs his shoulders. His garb changes from heavenly court dress to a stable hand’s outfit. The pair remain locked in embrace for a long while. In the distance, the two stallion chums, Boris and Angel, raise their heads and sniff the air. Looking about, they home in on the supernatural pair and trot briskly off in their direction.

A few minutes later, Boris stands behind Eric and gives him a hearty nudge with his nose. Angel nibbles Hekla’s jacket edge. The angel and demon separate, laugh. Eric looks confused for a moment, then flicks his hand over himself and is pleased when his London attire transforms into stretch denim breeches, zipped jacket, and boots. Hekla escorts Eric to Boris’s side. The demon stands uneasily, then raises a tentative hand and places it upon the giant black horse’s back.

_Shall I give you a leg up?_

_No. I remember how to mount._

Eric places both hands on Boris’s back, lightly vaults up and twists to seat himself. Hekla hops aboard Angel, and the small horse takes the lead back to the stable. The angel turns about and rides sitting backward, smiling at Eric.

* * *

The stable office. Alexis, the stable owner, taps in a call.

_Mr. Crowley._

_Alexis. What’s up?_

_Hekla and Eric just rode up on Boris and Angel. Ran off to their cabin. You said to call you right away if anything happened._

_Excellent. Thanks, Alexis. Probably best to let them get some rest. They’ve had a bit of an adventure. Put ‘em back to work tomorrow._

_You think they’ll be safe here now, Mr. Crowley?_

_‘Bout as safe as they’ll ever be, is my guess. Very much doubt their pursuers will be back._

_Ah. Took some action, did you?_

_You could say that. I’ll still be needing stable managers. So let’s just keep going with Plan A, if that’s all right with you?_

_Fine by me, Mr. Crowley. I’ll keep schtum. Call you tomorrow with an update._

_Thanks, Alexis. Give Boris a dram for me. Ciao._

* * *

Hekla and Eric’s cabin. The two run inside. Hekla slams the door, turns to Eric, snaps his fingers. They both stand nude. Regard one another for a moment. Then simultaneously step toward each other, embrace, and immediately surrender to Divine Ecstasy, floating a few inches off the floor.

Hours later, they come to, walk over to the double bed and lie alongside one another atop the duvet. Hekla’s soft voice murmurs:

_Eric, I can be female again if you prefer._

_I don’t prefer. You’re wonderful either way._

_I like feeling you inside me._

Hekla flicks his hand over himself. Now herself. She sits up and straddles Eric’s hips. The long platinum hair unbraids and hangs down in two streams over her shoulders and breasts. She leans forward and swishes it across Eric’s chest.

_Ooh. I like that._

* * *

London. Outside the H&H Main Office skyscraper. A petite light brown angel with soft curly dark locks, wearing a long white robe and sandals, exits the high glass entry doors. Obviously uneasy, she looks around as if she’s just landed upon some strange shore. Then cautiously walks several steps down the sidewalk as if wondering where to go or what to do next. A grey Ford Fiesta Ola pulls up to the curb. The driver leans out the window.

_Need a lift somewhere?_

_You’re a demon!_

_Don’t smite me! I can’t hurt you. Much. I’m just a disposable demon._

The driver gets out, opens the passenger door. The two give one another the up-and-down.

_My name is Manny. We were told to be watching for you._

_You know who I am?_

_No. You just look like you don’t know where to go._

_Can you take me to Demon Crowley?_

_Yes. But not right away. He’s busy somewhere else. Get in. I’ll drive you on a tour of London._

_I’m scared._

_I said, I can’t hurt you much. You have one of those flaming swords, don’t you?_

_No. I was never issued one._

_Pretty dumb to tell me that, don’t you think?_

The small angel scowls at him, then laughs.

_I guess you’d know how to find Demon Crowley better than a human cab driver would._

_Damn straight. Now get the fuck in._

Holding herself much as if about to enter a dungeon cell, the angel steps into the car. Manny slams the door, hops back into the driver’s seat, jerks the car back into traffic to the honking annoyance of the vehicle behind that he miraculously missed by millimeters. 

_What’s your name?_

_I’m Angel Bituin._

_Just an Angel? One of the rankers?_

_Yes._

_Ever been to Earth before?_

_No. They’ve kept me in data entry for forever._

Manny grins.

_Not so much work to do now that your archives got torched?_

_Just shut up and drive._

_Ooo. Bossy._

After a few miles, Manny spots a pullout and parks. Gets out, goes around and opens the rear passenger door.

_You may as well sit up front. Not as cramped. View’s better._

The little angel climbs out, Manny opens the front passenger door, she hops in, he closes the door, resumes his driver’s seat, and they take off.

_You need to ditch that robe. Too bad we can’t go shopping._

Bituin turns and inspects Manny closely. Then flicks her hand and is attired, like him, in jeans, trainers, a t-shirt, and hoodie. Only in pink. With sparkly kawaii Hello Kitty and rainbow unicorn on her hoodie. She looks cute as a frosted cupcake. But her eyes, like Manny’s, are not young.

_Cool. I don’t have enough power to do a trick like that._

Manny stares a bit too long, has to do a swerve to avoid the curb.

[](https://imgur.com/H10mNZG)


	17. Meanwhile, in Oxford

The outskirts of Oxford. Late evening. Karen and Manny’s two-bedroom flat. Karen is seated on the couch in the lounge, playing _Animal Crossing._ Manny sits at the other end of the couch, brings up _Viscera Cleanup Detail_ on the flatscreen.

_Oh god, Manny. How can you stand to play that?_

_‘S just like Hell. Only more fun. You should try it with me some time._

Karen has learned that whenever Manny mentions Hell, he’s not joking. She merely grimaces. Manny continues:

_I tried that animal game you’re playing. It’s just like Hell, too. Only twee._

_To be honest, you’ve kinda confirmed how I’m starting to feel about it. Like I’m some sort of debt peon or wage slave or something._

_You got it. Like rolling a rock uphill._

_Is there actually a Sisyphus in Hell?_

_Nah. Rock rolling is just a popular torment. Easy to set up. And the fire whips, of course. Demons love those._

_Someday I’ll learn to quit asking these questions._

She plays for several more minutes, then makes a disgusted sigh and sets the Switch aside.

_Another problem I have with this game is that I have no fantasies I want to fulfill by building a cottage so other animals can admire my neat stuff._

_Me neither._

_What kind of fantasies do you have, Manny?_

_I meant, I don’t have any fantasies at all._

_None?_

_I’m a Disposable Demon. It’s carpe diem for us. Here today, gone tomorrow._

_I thought demons were immortal?_

_The mother ship is. Us clones, not so much._

_The mother ship? Clones?_

_We’re clones of the Seraph Legion. She’s the immortal one. The vine. We disposable demons are the tentacles. Or tendrils. Or leaves. Or something. I’m not real clear on how plants work. At any rate, if we get discorporated, it’s pretty much game over for us._

_Discorporated? Is that the same as being killed?_

_Not exactly. We retain some personality and memories when we’re reincorporated. Like, I’m always about age 20. We have to re-grow our experiences from that point._

_Kind of like how a sea anemone can regrow its tentacles?_

_What’s a sea anemone?_

_Google it._

A minute later, Manny shows Karen his phone.

_These things? Says they’re animals, not plants._

_Keep reading. If I remember my biology class, they let tiny one-celled plants grow inside them. Sim . . . Symbiotes, that’s the word._

Manny keeps reading.

_Says they have stinging bits, too. Cool!_

_I’ve liked anemones ever since I first saw them at the London Aquarium. They’re so beautiful. How long does it take for you to re-grow if you’re ki- . . . discorporated?_

_Reincorporation is instantaneous. But we have to wait awhile for the paperwork to be processed. Can take weeks. And we usually get a long bath in the boiling sulfur pools. To encourage us to be more careful._

_Paperwork?_

_Hell is the ultimate bureaucracy. Although I hear Heaven is a close second. Or was, until a few days ago._

_What happened a few days ago?_

_An angel went nuts and burned up the entire Earth archive of The Heavenly Host. And Demon Crowley destroyed all their computer files._

_Manny. You’re making this up._

_Nuh-uh. I’m under orders to not lie to you._

Karen frowns.

_I just . . . . I just never would have guessed that Heaven and Hell actually do exist. Or that they’d be giant bureaucracies. It’s just . . . too totally weird._

_The angels like to say, “It is ineffable.” We demons like to say, “This is fucked.”_

They sit in silence for some moments. Then Manny speaks:

_Wanna play cribbage?_

_Sure. Why not._

They go over to the small dining table, which by mutual agreement is always kept clear of study materials and other debris. Manny fetches the deck of cards and cribbage board, a somewhat disturbingly organic piece fashioned from the root of an elk antler. He’d spotted it in an antique shop window the week prior, and had to have it. Karen goes to the refrigerator and returns with two beers, glasses, and salted smoked almonds. Manny seldom eats, but he loves beer and salted nuts.

They pay in companionable silence for some while. Then Manny murmurs,

_You’re catching on fast. Maybe in a few more years you’ll be able to win a game._

_Tch. You know perfectly well that you cheat._

_By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. You’re not actually considering dating Ted, are you?_

Karen puts down her cards and stares at the demon.

_And why shouldn’t I?_

_Wouldn’t put it past him to assault you, Karen._

_Manny!_

The demon gives her a searching look. Then:

_You know I’m right, don’t you. He’s good-looking, but a right bastard._

Karen sighs. 

_Yeah. I was kind hoping my instincts would be wrong. That he wasn’t a player. How could you tell?_

_Tell what? That you have the hots for him, or that he’s a predator?_

Karen glares at him. 

_Why don’t you answer both those questions, Manny._

_OK. First. I’m a demon. Sensing opportunities for temptation is what we do. Can’t not do. Built in, y’know? Like, if I weren’t charged with protecting you, I’d encourage you to hang with Ted, he’d do something awful to you, and evil would be accomplished._

_You can detect who I’m attracted to?_

_And what. That weakness for spumoni ice cream, for example._

_But you let me eat it anyway and get fat?_

_You’re not fat. You look good at around 11 stone. But to answer the second question, Hell's pyres and pits are stuffed with humans like Ted. The rotten souls are all we get down there. Can smell ‘em a mile off. Very satisfying to torment ‘n roast ‘em._

Karen thinks a long moment. Then:

_Maybe you demons aren’t really evil. You dispense justice._

_Maybe the higher ups do. I’m just one of the cleanup crew. And we’re definitely evil, don’t doubt that for a moment._

They’ve finished their beers. 

_Y’know, Manny, lets go play Viscera Cleanup. I think maybe I could get into it, after all._

_I’ll try not to let you booger up my play. Be careful not to kick over buckets, for starters._

They play for over 6 hours, with one break for Karen to pee. She finally yawns, gets up, and goes off to her bedroom. Just before entering her room and shutting the door, she turns:

_Y’know, Manny, if it weren’t for the sex with humans thing, you’d be the perfect companion. ‘Way more fun than a guardian angel._

Manny, who of course doesn’t sleep, looks thoughtful for about a millisecond, then gets up, put in his earbuds, and finds a mirror video for some BTS dance moves. Practices for a couple of hours, then goes to his desk and starts studying a helicopter mechanic manual. Carpe diem.

* * *

Next morning. Karen emerges from her bedroom, clad in an oversize t-shirt and flannel robe, with matching bed hair. Manny’s heard her stirring, hands her a giant latte. The oven bell dings. Without bothering to use a potholder, he gets out the tray of bacon - another of the human foods he finds irresistible – and sets it upon the table. Karen helps herself to two strips, folding a piece of toast around them. They converse while Manny consumes the other 8 rashers, dredging them about in the grease first to mop up the maximum load.

_You demons are so lucky. Eat what you want, never get fat, never have to take a shit._

_Yep. Apart from having to exist in Hell, it’s a great life._

_Is there food in Hell?_

_Yeah. But it’s mostly made for tormenting those damned for gluttony. Looks good, but is actually quite nasty. Some demons eat it. But they’re kinda kinky. Mostly we just drink tea. Or coffee. Or some other shit, like yerba mate. It all tastes like boiled bark. But the caffeine hit feels good. Earth coffee is really great. ‘S one of the thing I like best about being up here._

_Do you get to visit Earth often?_

_No. This is only my second trip. First time was a few years ago. A platoon of us were dispatched to London to locate Demon Crowley. Then we got pulled back down until just recently._

_How many are in a platoon?_

_About 50._

_What happened that you got sent back up?_

_The Eric and the DeeDee who were left to monitor Demon Crowley got into some bad trouble._

_Dare I ask what that trouble was?_

_Best not. Let’s just say Eric got mixed up with an angel._

_Like Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell?_

_Yep._

_And neither of your organizations was very happy about that?_

_Even worse. The angel is the one that just burned up all Heaven’s records._

_Omigod._

_No shit. But I’d better not go on about all this. You could ask Demon Crowley about it when we get back to Tadfield._

_Mr. Crowley scares me._

_Me too. Maybe you could talk to Angel Aziraphale. He tolerates humans pretty well._

_Have to say, I’m not exactly thrilled to be going back to Tadfield. I miss London. And being here has been my first chance to live on my own._

_You don’t get on with your mum?_

_Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. I love Mum. It’s just that I’m an adult now. Want to be earning my own way through life. Doing my own thing._

Manny contemplates her while he licks the last of the bacon grease off a spatula. Karen has witnessed this procedure often enough by now that she’s immune to gagging. The demon takes a final swig of coffee. Then:

_No one in Tadfield worth having sex with?_

_Manny, is that all you think about?_

_It’s all you think about. Humans your age are very lustful._

_Well. We’re under a lot of hormonal pressure to mate. I’d be considered already past my prime in a lot of cultures._

Manny looks a trifle sly as he murmurs,

_So why don’t you simply hook up with someone and have sex? You’re the only female in our classes. The men watch you constantly. You could easily seduce one of them._

_I don’t want to simply have sex. I’m not some predator like Ted. Ew._

_No classes now, anyway._

Karen gives him a sharp look.

_Manny. You were tempting me, weren’t you._

Manny looks a trifle shifty. Shrugs. Points to his chest.

_Demon? ‘S what we do, remember? I’m kinda glad you resisted, though. Would hate to see you damned._

_Having casual sex is damnable?_

_No. Not at all._

_Well, what, then? Explain._

_I can’t, really. We just operate by intuition. Every human’s a bit different. But I’ve done time cleaning up after the succubi and incubi, and . . ._

He grimaces as if in pain.

_. . . I’d really hate to see you in . . . in . . . that situation._

He thinks for a minute.

_Maybe we could go shopping for some of those sex toys that humans like to play with? They might make you feel better?_

Karen is momentarily indignant. Then the image of going through a sex shop with Manny floats to mind. She laughs hard enough to spill coffee from the mug she’s holding.

_Shops are closed for now, Manny. But yeah, that could be fun. Maybe we’d find something that would interest you, too._

_No. Sex does not interest me._

_Seriously? You never get boners?_

Manny grimaces.

_No. I am not that kind of demon._

_Lucky you._

He shakes his head.

_You don’t know the half of it._

She drinks the remainder of her coffee.

_Let’s mop up here, get packed, and roll on back to Tadfield._


	18. Heavenly Hacker

London. Crystal Palace Park. Crowley is perched atop a paw of one of the red sphinxes. Aziraphale is standing close by, back straight, hands clasped. Manny slouches up, the little angel Bituin anxiously hanging a bit behind him. He bows to Crowley.

_Demon Crowley. This is Angel Bituin._

_Manners, kid._

Manny turns and bows to Aziraphale as well.

_Angel Aziraphale. May I present Angel Bituin._

Manny plops himself down on the steps below Crowley. Bituin cautiously moves closer to Aziraphale. Crowley growls:

_So. Bituin. You wanted to see me?_

_I know how you hacked Heaven’s system._

_And?_

Bituin, somewhat taken aback by this casual attitude, thinks a moment.

_I don’t want to work in Heaven anymore. Can you get me a computer job on Earth?_

_Ever been to Earth before?_

_No._

Crowley looks down at the disposable demon.

_How’s she dealing with it so far, Manny?_

_Made herself a new outfit._

_Got rid of her phone, did you?_

_Yeah. Melted it._

A couple approaches the sphinx stairway. Crowley fixes them with a stare, radiates a bit of Menace. They stop, take a step backward, then proceed over the grass in a wide circle around the four. Crowley turns back to Bituin.

_And we know you’re not a ringer from the Heavenly Host, how?_

_They don’t even know I’m gone. Everything’s a mess since Angel Hekla burned up the archive. I thought it would be a good time to slip away. Nobody ever gave me a chance to do anything interesting. They all think they’re so smart. But they let the system slide. They thought it was useless to maintain with Armageddon imminent. And then they never upgraded after Armageddon was canceled. I tried and tried to convince them, but I’m just a data entry clerk and they ignored me. I went ahead anyway and did some critical patches recently. And got called on the carpet for messing about where I wasn’t authorized. There are a ton of vulnerabilities left. I just couldn’t stand it any longer._

Crowley regards her intently for a long moment.

_Left a few surprises for them, did you?_

Bituin looks shifty. Then raises her chin, but says nothing.

_Humans call that, “burning your bridges behind you.” My software expert says you need to learn how to add false fingerprints._

_I don’t care if they know it was me. I’m not going back. Can I join your organization?_

_I’m a demon. Perhaps you’ve noticed? Your hereditary enemy? Or do you fancy joining The Fallen? Enjoy the delicate scent of molten sulfur, do you?_

_Aziraphale isn’t Fallen. Neither is Hekla._

_You’re prepared to suffer similar punishments and attempts at extinction if the Heavenly Host captures you?_

_Yes. Nothing could be worse than having to stay in data entry._

_Dagon’s file clerks might dispute you on that one. And Manny here could tell you some tales._

_I don’t care! I’m not going back to Heaven._

_A sound goal, to be sure. Thing is, my organization requires some heavy exploits before anyone is allowed to join. You need to pay your own way. Capiche?_

_I should exploit one of those zero days still on the heavenly servers?_

_Small stuff. Large monetary contributions are far more useful._

_You mean, steal money? From humans? Isn’t that some kind of sin?_

_“Steal” is such an ambiguous term. I would say the words “liberate” and “redistribution” are far more accurate. Given the rampant inequities and grift involved in human financial systems._

_I guess I really don’t know much about how human money works._

_Neither do most humans, fortunately. Finance is a field in which complexity is used to disguise truth or to evade truth, not to reveal it. The process by which banks create money is actually so simple the mind is repelled. There isn’t much ingenuity to human financial fraud. The basic forms are all known, have all been practiced. One simply has to invent a new camouflage to fit the times.*_

_I’m not sure I’m that smart. I barely understand Bitcoin. And I don’t have any equipment anymore. And I don’t even know how to live on Earth._

_The little angel looks about to cry._

_Please, Angel Aziraphale, help me. I don’t want to be a criminal. I just love playing with computers._

Manny looks anxious. Aziraphale gazes at Crowley.

_Crowley? Played with your mouse long enough?_

_Just making sure our little renegade knows what she’s up against. This is Earth, Bituin. The place that gave Hell lessons in cruelty._

He turns and smiles broadly at Aziraphale.

_No worries, Angel. I do indeed have a plan._

_I never doubted that for an instant, Crowley._

The demon turns again to Bituin.

_Aziraphale was the first angel to buy a computer. Did you know that?_

_No! Awesome!_

_Of course, he’s kept using the same damned one for forty years now._

Aziraphale looks about to interject something, but Crowley holds up a finger, and continues.

_I need someone to set up a network that coordinates and upgrades all the different raggedy-ass systems we’ve got going in Tadfield. Someone with a keen understanding of security issues. Think you’d be up for a job like that?_

_It would be my dream job!_

_Feel as if you’d died and gone to Heaven, as the humans say?_

_Much better than Heaven._

_Yes. Not at all the place humans imagine it to be, is it. Hell matches quite closely, however._

_Can I start right away?_

_Yep. I’ll require a bit of tuition from you, of course. Deal with the Devil, etcetera etcetera. There’s a little exploit involving the local bank that might be a good demonstration of your capabilities._

_“Liberating” some funds?_

_Oh no. Depositing them. We’ll discuss the details later._

_Crowley looks down at the disposable demon sitting on the steps._

_Manny, you drive Bituin to Tadfield Manor. Mary’s already got a room ready for her. Angel and I won’t be around until late tomorrow. Take Bituin bicycling with DeeDee. Or something._

_I don’t know how to ride a bike._

Crowley gives him a look.

_But I expect I can learn._

Bituin regards Aziraphale.

_Aziraphale? Why do you and Demon Crowley look so old? Am I going to have to be old, too?_

Crowley removes his glasses, snaps his fingers, and he’s 17. A very pretty boy. With russet hair and golden snake eyes that rivet Bituin as if she were some tender little prey.

_We’ve been on Earth assignment for 6,000 years, kid. If you want to blend in with the humans, look middle-aged. Makes you nearly invisible. Youth and beauty attract unwanted attention._

Another finger snap and he’s late-40s again. An affectionate look at Aziraphale. Replaces his dark glasses and regards Bituin and Manny.

_Now fuck off, you two._

Manny leaps up.

_We heed your command._

The disposable demon grabs a fistful of Bituin’s hoodie, drags her off at a brisk trot. A few minutes later, when they’re out of sight of the sphinxes, he slows and releases his grip.

_You didn’t have to drag me._

_Take a hint. Angels walk in where fiends fear to tread._

_Demon Crowley is not to be messed with?_

_You had me worried a couple of times there._

_“We heed and obey” – is that what you demons say?_

_We know what’ll happen if we don’t._

* * *

About a quarter of an hour later. Aziraphale and Crowley are strolling hand in hand through the park. Crowley stops, turns to face Aziraphale, runs his hands through the angel’s wooly hair.

_Kiss me, my middle-aged love._

* * *

Tadfield. Late afternoon. A bench near the garden pond at Tadfield Manor. Bituin’s chauffeur Manny and Karen’s bodyguard Manny are sharing a joint.

_She’s pretty cute, all right._

_Can you believe she miracled a Hello Kitty hoodie for DeeDee?_

_At least it’s a black one._

_Dark grey, really._

_“Charcoal,” would you say, monsieur?_

_That’s it. Pass the peanuts. Those Costco ones are great._

_You were funny as hell on that bike._

_No doubt. That little Hell Hound was no help, either. Which reminds me._

He bends down, pulls up a jeans cuff and magics away the holes in one sock.

_‘Spose we could teach Bituin to dance? DeeDee’s done a pretty good job with that human boy she likes to hang with._

_“Blood, Sweat and Tears,” maybe?_

_Dude. That’s freakin’ hard._ (Takes a drag and looks thoughtful). _Appropriate, though._

Oxford Manny gives the other Manny a speculative look. 

_Might be more fun to grab the Erics and Jin and do a performance instead._

_Yeah. She’s an angel. So it wouldn’t be like performing for humans._

_Let’s go practice when we’re done here. Dibs on J-Hope._

_You think she’s a hottie, don’t you._

_Shut up. Maybe._

* * *

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOwZ8IXxI2U>

* * *

*Bonus points for recognizing J.K. Galbraith in this one.


	19. Raiders

London. Crystal Palace Park.

Aziraphale and Crowley are strolling hand in hand through the park. Crowley stops, turns to face Aziraphale, runs his hands through the angel’s wooly hair.

_Kiss me, my middle-aged love._

An ardent kiss. The two then stand locked in embrace, heads on one another’s shoulders, for nearly a quarter of an hour. They might be statues. Finally, they stroll back to where the Bentley is conveniently but illegally parked. Crowley opens the passenger door for the angel, who gets in. Closing the door, the demon walks around to resume his driver’s seat, but pauses before getting in. Takes out his vibrating phone. Stands listening for a moment, makes a few curt replies, then climbs into the car. The Bentley purrs away from the curb and down the thoroughfare. Unlikely to be noticed by any observer, four nondescript small sedans provide escort ahead, behind, and along the side streets.

_No speeding today, Crowley?_

_Nah. No fun when there’s only a few other cars on the road. Takes all the sport out of it._

_Rather relaxing, really. Can we drive around London a bit?_

_Sure. We’ll make it a sort of automotive picnic. Pass me a half bot from that hamper you brought, will you?_

Aziraphale reaches around to the basket in the back seat, extracts a bottle of champagne, uncorks it. But instead of passing Crowley the bottle, magics two flutes out of the basket and pours them each a glassful. Spreads a tartan napkin over his front. Gets out a luncheon plate and an egg salad and cress sandwich.

_Fancy half?_

_Actually, any hard-boiled eggs in the basket? I prefer those._

Aziraphale fetches a peeled egg, passes it to Crowley, who swallows it whole without chewing.

_Really, my dear. Always a trifle disconcerting when you do that. I never quite get used to it._

The demon smirks sinfully.

_Disconcerts the park ducks even more._

Crowley, champagne flute in one hand, fingers of the other hand resting lightly on the lower steering wheel, lets the Bentley drive itself through South London.

_Anyplace in particular you want to visit, Angel?_

_Oh no. Let’s just do a crazy ride. Make turns at random. Left at the next corner!_

Which is what they do. For a leisurely couple of hours. Reminiscing as they encounter sites they remember from Back In The Day. As they make their way back across the river and toward Mayfair, Crowley takes another call. A glow of anger gives his eyes an orange tint. Then he grins as he continues listening at length.

_Tell me they missed the copter on the roof._

A smile of grim satisfaction.

_We’re on our way._

He stows his phone, turns to regard Aziraphale, who has caught the demon’s expression changes and is now visibly worried.

_What’s happened, Crowley?_

_Seems more angels are taking unauthorized leave of the Main Office. The disposable demons picked up two coming out the lobby just as we were leaving the park. By now safely stashed at Tadfield Manor. And just a short while ago, a squad of ten led by Sandalphon, who made their way to our flat and wrecked the place._

_No!_

_Oh yes. Took enough time to do a pretty good job of it, from DeeDee’s report. Fortunately they didn't realize the little Cabri on the roof is ours._

_DeeDee is unscathed?_

_Close call. One of the angels spotted her peeking through a window and gave chase, but she zoomed off. She and her doubles apparently had quite a bit of fun evading pursuit. The DeeDees know every hideout in the area, of course, and led the angel a merry hunt. Bare-bottom taunts, downspout drenchings, bin dumps, etcetera. A heart-warming performance, from the sound of it._

_Sassy little fiends. I suppose they all made videos on their phones?_

_Of course. Have to show Uriel to see if she recognizes the angel giving chase. And the others on the lobby cams._

_You seem remarkably unconcerned, Crowley._

_Been expecting this. Just unsure which side was going to do it first._

Crowley relaxes back into the driver’s seat. They make their way to the flat building. The Bentley slips into the underground parking garage like a weasel into its bolt hole.

The two make their way to the penthouse flat via the small private lift. The tiny lobby is a mass of rubble, the stairwell strewn with dust and soot. Pieces of the shattered door lie in the entryway. Two Erics stand guard. They bow as the angel and demon exit the lift.

_We haven’t gone inside._

Crowley gets out his phone, taps in a call.

_Evgeny. Anything on the taps about booby traps?_

_We couldn’t understand the language they were speaking._

_Play it back._

Crowley stands a long while listening. Looks at Aziraphale as he murmurs into the phone:

_Classical Latin._

Then:

_Nothing sounds like any traps were set. Just concentrated on being thorough in their destruction._

Aziraphale murmurs,

_Typical Sandalphon. Big on smiting, short on brains._

_We’re going in now._

Crowley disconnects and replaces his phone.

_I really need to get a smartwatch._

He leads the way into the flat. 

_Brace yourself, Angel._

Nothing has escaped unscathed. The couch is a melted mass, still smoldering acrid fumes. The Mona Lisa sketch is a pile of burnt flakes, the beautiful Tabriz rug a charred ruin. Throne chair an unrecognizable pile of blackened sticks. Marble desk is now gravel rubble. Plants have been turned into charcoal skeletons. Kitchen a ruin of broken crockery and crumpled half-melted appliances. Bedroom closet a pile of torched fibers. They took particular care with the bed, of which only a twisted pile of metal and blackened rags remains. Every wall is a pockmarked ruin of scorch marks. All windows are crazed, one is completely broken. A chill breeze flows through it into the room.


	20. Not Exactly Lockdown

London. Crowley's destroyed Mayfair flat. Aziraphale murmurs as he and Crowley enter the ruin:

_Funny the fire alarms didn’t go off._

_I’d disconnected them. Publicity is the last thing we need._

_Tenants below didn’t notice the crashing and banging? No one summoned the Met?_

_It’s a sublease. They’re only in London for an occasional shopping expedition. And not at all now, of course._

They wander around the wreckage. Crowley miracles the broken window whole. 

_Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry._

_No worries, Angel. As I said, I’ve been expecting something like this to happen. Ever since that hack of Heaven and Hell. Just wasn’t sure which side would get around to retribution first. At least that question has been answered._

_Is that why you were so anxious when we were in Falmouth? You’ve never switched from human to snake before. I mean, apart from court dress._

_Nah. I’d summoned Beelzebub when we were there, you know. That alone was enough to scare me half senseless. Was worried she might take the opportunity to enjoy a bit of disciplinary action._

Crowley shudders despite himself. Aziraphale puts an arm around the demon’s waist as they continue to crunch across the floor of the flat.

_You summoned . . . Beelzebub? Whatever for, in Heaven's name? . . . Er. In Hell's name, I suppose._

_To get a star like yours pasted onto Hekla. Infernal fireproofing._

_Crowley! Were you the mastermind behind Hekla’s torching Metatron’s archive?_

_Oh no. Just another case of sensing a temptation opportunity. And then pulling the right little strings, poking the right little buttons. You know. The usual._

_What we angels call “encouragement.”_

_I believe humans currently call it "nudging.”_

Crowley looks thoughtful, then resumes:

_Although in Hekla’s case, it didn’t take much of a nudge. More like pulling the pin on a grenade._

_And now she’s an Angel of Wrath._

_‘Zat some sort of official rank? Complete with natty black uniform?_

_It is._

_Have a lot of ‘em, do you?_

Aziraphale looks uneasy.

_Oh no. Very few. They hold themselves apart from the rest of the Heavenly Host. Are rather feared, frankly. I’ve only witnessed an Angel of Wrath in action once._

_Let me guess. Sodom and Gomorrah?_

_Yes._

_Just one?_

_Yes._

_Shit. Holy shit, in this case._

Aziraphale gives the demon A Look. Crowley is silent a moment, then guffaws:

_That rat bastard Sandalphon better watch out._

_His annoyances led Hekla to request a transfer out of Housekeeping, did they not?_

_Yep._

_My, my._

They're now in the bedroom, stepping across the charred remains of the exquisite Tabriz. Aziraphale sighs.

_I did so enjoy that lovely carpet. It was quite a rare design, you know._

_Told you, Angel, no worries. I put things I deemed irreplaceable into storage. Like that rug. It can be copied back at will._

_So you haven’t lost your Leonardo sketch or your Raffles chair?_

_Nah. Still have the eagle from the holy water font, too. And your kendo outfit._

_My kendo outfit?_

_I wasn’t sure whether it might be some Edo-era antique. Knowing the kind of getups you fancy._

_Oh, Crowley._

Aziraphale hugs the demon tightly. Angels don’t shed tears, so Crowley’s shoulder doesn’t get wetted.

Just then there’s a commotion in the hallway. The two Erics dash into the room.

_Demon Crowley! The angels return!_

Crowley releases Aziraphale and the two stand against the wall either side of the window overlooking the street below. They peer carefully around the edges. Ten angels, most in white scribe’s robes, a few in security tracksuits. All carrying flaming swords. The scribes are bunched together, to the evident consternation of the security angels, who are trying to move them into an assault formation. Plump Sandalphon in housekeeping overalls is hanging apart at the rear, halfway to the opposite sidewalk.

Too late, angels. Leysa leaps out of the grey SUV parked unnoticed down the street. Uses it for cover as she releases a burst of automatic gun fire. Seven angels discorporate into glittering dust. The rest drop bleeding to the sidewalk. Leysa releases another burst, and they, too, discorporate.

Sandalphon turns toward Leysa, leveling his sword in her direction. But before he can smite, there’s a subterranean rumble. Cracks appear in the roadway and in the blink of an eye an enormous winged tiger emerges. Sandalphon’s sword extinguishes and clatters to the pavement. The tiger leaps upon the angel’s back, bites his shoulders as if to carry away a kitten, and vanishes.

Crowley notices alarmed faces in the surrounding windows, drawn by the snap of gunfire. He waves his hand and the humans wander off back into their rooms.

_I think my boss just carried away Sandalphon. Can’t think who else would be swanking around as a winged tiger._

_Was that gunfire, Crowley?_

_Yeah. Leysa discorporated the angels._

_My word._

_That’ll teach ‘em to get stuck in the first century._

* * *

By the time they get down to the street, Leysa has stowed her weapon and various Jins, Erics, DeeDees and Mannys are trickling in from their observation posts in the surrounding streets, all with their phones to their ears. Leysa barks into her microphone:

_Maintain distance! Secure perimeter!_

Two Erics emerge from a nearby alleyway. They’re carrying a wounded DeeDee.

_Demon Crowley! She’s hurt bad!_

The petite demon’s wounds are horrific. Third degree burns along one side, one eye blinded and leaking blood and fluid. She looks about to discorporate.

Aziraphale runs over as they lay the DeeDee on the sidewalk. He kneels by her side, extends his hands and methodically moves them over her from head to toe, healing her burns. She sits up and starts to cry. He lifts her onto his lap and folds his arms around her in a tight hug, one hand holding her head close to his shoulder.

Leysa trots up.

_We must leave. Quickly. We’re clearing the area. Heading back to The House. We’ll escort you to the Bentley._

Crowley runs over and grabs the sword off the pavement. Then assists Aziraphale as the angel rises, still carrying the little disposable demon. Looks at the sidewalk, snaps his fingers to magic away the shards of broken glass from the window above.

Leysa, two stern, solid men clad in security gear, and half a dozen disposable demons fan out and precede Crowley and Aziraphale around the corner and into the alleyway entrance to the subterranean parking garage. 

_All clear!_

Crowley opens the Bentley's passenger door and folds the seat forward. Aziraphale gently places the DeeDee on the back seat. Strokes her forehead and cheek, breathes lightly into her face. The blessing produces a faint smile on her face as she closes her eyes and appears to relax into sleep. Aziraphale steps away. Crowley shuts the passenger door. Steps to the back of the car, drops the sword into the boot. Goes back to Aziraphale and gives the angel a solid hug and kiss on the cheek. Then trots round to the driver’s side, climbs into his seat. The Bentley backs out of its slot and purrs away.

The angel summons the small private elevator, turns to Leysa as he gets in.

_Thank you, my dear. That was a most extraordinary performance._

She salutes, then moves off with her team. 

Aziraphale rides the lift to the top floor, takes the stairway to the roof. Climbs in the little G2, puts on his helmet, goes through the startup sequence. A short time later, the small helicopter lifts off in miraculous silence and follows the Thames west toward Tadfield.

* * *

In the Bentley driving along below, the disposable demon opens her eyes.

_Demon Crowley, can I sit in front?_

_Sure, kid. You earned it._

Lithe as a cat, the little demon slips into the front seat. Her excitement is obvious. Nothing like a ride in Demon Crowley’s Bentley to effect a swift recovery.


	21. Hellhound

Hell. Chamber of Judgment. Beelzebul sits on the horned throne, Dagon and Maalik to her right and left below the dais. The audience viewing chamber has been limited to the Press only. Further limited to just the two reporters from the Infernal Times, Malacoda and Thompson. Six Praetorian Guards surround the heavily shackled Archangel Sandalphon, his beige housekeeping uniform now scorched around the trouser cuffs and soiled with hellish grime.

_Archangel Sandalphon._

_Prince Beelzebub._

_Beelzebul._

_Ah. Prince of the Palace again, eh? No longer Lord of the Flies? A tiger this time, not a lion? Back to prowling about, seeking whom you may devour?_

Beelzebul regards him in stony silence. The last time Saldalphon saw her, she was a petite woman garbed as a Napoleonic fly. Now she resembles a tall female Tamerlane in a dark designer suit and tiger skin. Sandalphon’s unease grows as the silence lengthens. Finally:

_You destroyed Demon Crowley’s dwelling. Why._

_I sought to gain favor with Gabriel by bringing retribution to the destroyer of the heavenly archive._

_Angel Hekla destroyed the archive._

_Crowley tempted her to commit the vile deed._

_You know that, how?_

Sandalphon looks shifty.

_It must have been Crowley. No angel would have contemplated such evil on their own._

_And yet The Almighty did not send Angel Hekla to join The Fallen. Instead, she has become an Angel of Wrath._

Dagon twists the knife a bit:

_And a protector of one of our demons, no less._

Beelzebul nods briefly in acknowledgment.

Another long silence under Beelzebul’s remorseless stare. Sandalphon swallows, hard. If angels could sweat, he would be glistening.

_And now you are our prisoner._

_Gabriel will ransom me!_

_Pray that he does. In the meantime, we grant you guest accommodation at our delightful sulfur spa. Guards! Escort Archangel Sandalphon to the blue pools._

* * *

After Sandalphon has been taken away, Beelzebul turns and regards Dagon. 

_The young witch in the Young Master’s village. She is of age. Has she been assigned a familiar?_

_We have tried, Lord. The young witch has rejected all of them._

_Summon Delphine to my office._

* * *

Hell. Beelzebul’s office. She is reclined in her ergonomic executive chair, feet upon the new black marble desk. Stands as Witch Concierge Delphine strides in and bows before her.

_Delphine._

_Lord Beelzebul._

_Dagon informs me you’re having difficulty placing a familiar with the young Tadfield witch._

_Yes Lord. We’ve tried the traditional black cat. And . . . let me see . . . A toad. Bat. Blackbird. Mouse. Weasel. Hare. Praying mantis. Snake. She took particular umbrage at the snake, chasing it out of the garden. We debated tropical fish, but it seems this girl is simply not interested in pets._

_What about a dog?_

_A hellhound, Lord? Surely that would be excessive?_

_Kennel Master Wepwawet has reported to me a new breed they’re using to herd the Damned. A small wolf that the humans use to herd their captive animals. Go to her and see if she has a likely animal._

_Lord. I heed and obey._

* * *

Hell. The dark, noisy, and aromatic kennels of the hellhounds. Kennel Master Wepwawet and Delphine converse as they walk along.

_The giant hounds and dire wolves continue to be popular at the nightly Devour the Damned shows in the Colosseum. As well as for maintaining discipline, of course._

_But they cause staffing problems, I gather._

_Yes. Unfortunate tendency to gobble up the occasional Disposable Demon. Lord Beelzebu- Beelzebul gets mighty irked about that. So we’ve developed a new small breed that works a treat herding the Damned. ‘S been a regular stampede through The Gate these days, as you likely know._

_Indeed._

_At any rate, these new hellhounds are snappy little devils. Maalik’s crew loves ‘em._

They pause outside a kennel.

_Meet Sinner. Her litter is about ten weeks old now._

A stocky Blue Heeler stands and barks a greeting to Wepwawet, who fondly tosses the dog a gobbet of . . . something . . . as a treat. She goes to open the kennel door.

_You’d best stay out. They’re a bit tetchy around strangers._

Wepwawet slips inside. Five pups cavort and leap about her like popcorn. One hangs back a bit. The demon slips a hand under its belly and lifts it up draped over her forearm, takes it the edge of the cage to show Dagon.

_This little female’s a bit shy. Might bond well with a human._

The puppy licks the demon’s fingers. Instead of trying to sink her tiny teeth into them and gnaw.

Wepwawut exits the cage with the puppy. Sinner whines.

_Now now, my pet, you have to let them go sometime._

The demon tosses a giant gory bone into the cage, and pandemonium results. She and Delphine walk off.

* * *

Tadfield. A dark evening with pouring rain. Pepper's house. Pepper and her mum Janet are in the kitchen. A scratching and whining noise at the back door to the garden. Pepper goes and opens the door. A sodden and shivering puppy is on the stoop. 

_Mom! It’s a little dog! It’s all wet and cold._

Pepper scoops up the puppy, brings it inside. Grabs a kitchen towel and wraps it around the animal, sits with it on her lap. Janet crouches alongside, strokes the little dog’s head.

_Cute little thing. Seems well cared for. Someone must own it._

_I wonder who? Should we keep it overnight? Put a notice in the Advertiser tomorrow? Tell Animal Control?_

_Yes. I’ll call Animal Control right now, just in case someone’s reported a lost dog. Let me get a bigger towel._

Janet goes off to the linen closet and returns with a fluffy bath towel. Notes Pepper’s expression as she works to dry the pup’s fur. It shivers as it snuggles into her lap. Pepper looks up at her mum:

_Poor little thing is freezing._

_Maybe it would like some of that leftover beef stew, warmed up a bit in the microwave._

Janet goes to the refrigerator. Georgia enters the room.

_What’s this? A puppy?_

_It was crying on the back step._

_Aww. What a cute little thing. Just look at those adorable floppy ears. Now who would let a baby dog roam around on a night like this? Tch._

Janet places a saucer of stew in the microwave. Then takes her phone from her pocket and calls Animal Control. Murmurs a query and a few replies. Taps her phone to disconnect.

_Geoff at Animal Control says no reports of a lost dog. Just the usual complaint from Tyler about Adam’s Dog running loose again this afternoon._

The puppy licks Peppers fingers.

_I think it likes me._

Janet brings over a saucer of warm gravy with a few bits of beef and carrot. Pepper doesn’t set the puppy on the floor, but keeps it in her lap and holds the saucer in front of its muzzle. The stew is lapped up in less than two minutes. The puppy licks its chops, then curls up in Pepper’s lap. Watchful little topaz eyes gaze up at Janet and Georgia.

[ ](https://imgur.com/KHQ8oAU)


	22. Runaways

Tadfield. The helicopter pad at Tadfield Manor. A little G2 lightly lands. Rotors stop. After a moment, Aziraphale steps out. Takes off his helmet and lays it upon the seat. The two Eric friends are waiting with the guest van, standing beside the open front passenger door.

_Shall we take you to the bookshop, Mr. Fell?_

_You can call me Aziraphale if there are no humans present. Let’s go to the manor first. I’m curious to meet the new angel arrivals._

The swift glance the two Erics give one another does not escape his notice.

_We heed your command, Aziraphale._

The angel sits in the front passenger seat. An Eric closes the door, opens the back door and climbs in as the other Eric gets in the driver’s seat. 

* * *

Tadfield Manor guest lounge. Tiny Angel Bituin is in a comfy armchair, feet on hassock, sipping a giant green bubble tea. A white-robed angel with a surprising resemblance to the Disposable Demon Jin, albeit with silver hair, sits at a table and seems to be doing some sort of calligraphy with a touchscreen and stylus. 

Anyone entering the room would notice these two angels last, however, for sitting stretched across a sofa as she lazily sips a cappuccino is a statuesque angel two meters tall. Caramel skin and a mane of jet hair with two twisted lovelocks. Silk chiffon chemise, trumpet sleeves, lavishly embroidered and purfled in satiny white threads and baroque pearls. The swirling embroidery designs somewhat conceal the slim waist, curvy hips and generous thighs. However, she’s set aside her long brocade vest, thus revealing her ample bosom, the gauzy low-cut chemise barely topping her areolae and nipples visible below.

Aziraphale and the two Erics enter the lounge. The Erics appear to be straining every neck muscle to wrench their gaze away from the curvaceous angel.

_May we bring you some refreshment, Aziraphale?_

_Oh no, that’s quite all right, thank you. Crowley will be arriving soon._

The two Erics retreat into the hallway and close the door. Aziraphale approaches Bituin, who is closest.

_Hello, my dear. Would you be so kind as to introduce me?_

Bituin hops out of her chair, leads him to the petite silver-haired angel first. 

_Principality Aziraphale, may I present Angel Hildy. She’s a Scribe._

_So very pleased to meet you, my dear._

The angel gives him a merry, albeit somewhat sly, smile.

_The pleasure is all mine, Aziraphale. You are a legend._

_Oh dear._

Bituin takes his hand and leads him over to the buxom angel.

_Principality Aziraphale, may I present Archangel Zamiyah. She is . . . or was . . . uh. . ._

_An houri._

Lush rosy lips curve into a sultry smile. Long dark lashes give one slow blink as she gives Aziraphale the Up-and-Down.

_Your beauty outshines Venus, my dear._

_A pretty compliment, Aziraphale. Thank you._

She turns about so she’s sitting upright on the sofa. Pats the cushion beside her.

_Why don’t you sit with me, while we await Demon Crowley and our little Antichrist._

_Delighted, my dear._

Aziraphale sets himself down as sedately as if upon a pew in church, hands folded across his waistcoat. The two other angels exchange glances as he and Zamiyah softly converse as if discussing bond and equity trades.

* * *

Tadfield Manor. The hallway outside the guest lounge. The two Erics are braced with their backs to the wall, holding hands.

_Unhhgk. Is this what lust feels like?_

_I don’t know. I just feel shaky all over._

_Did you see her breasts?_

_Fuck. How could I not._

_Was all I could do to not run over and do a face plant._

The two Mannys stroll around the corner.

_Satan’s sins. What’s wrong with you two?_

_Have you seen the new angel?_

_Aren’t there two of them?_

_Go take a look._

The Manny’s flick their hands to change into their French waiter’s uniforms. Walk briskly into the lounge and over to the bar, rummage around as if checking stock and tidying up. Then exit carrying a few empty bottles.

_Guessing you mean that bad mama jama. Not the little grey-haired one._

The Erics look increasingly apprehensive.

_Do you think she’s Heaven’s version of a succubus?_

_Nah. No sex in Heaven, from what I’ve heard._

_You sure?_

_Pretty sure. I think angels view sex with humans pretty much like we do. No go._

_Even if the humans have celestial bodies in Heaven and don’t . . . you know, exude stuff?_

_Leader Eric’s angel Hekla fucked a human._

_And got burned at the stake for it._

Jin trots down the hall and joins the group. 

_DeeDee says one of the new angels is a succubus._

_We were just discussing that._

Jin inspects the distressed Erics.

_Are you two in love with the succubus angel? Wow. Fast work. You Erics are thirsty little sex fiends, aren’t you._

_Too many Earth missions? Gone native?_

_Shut up, you lot. This isn’t funny._

_Uh oh. Here comes Demon Crowley._

The five disposable demons turn and bow low as Crowley strides up. He gives them a keen glance as he enters the guest lounge.

* * *

_Well, well. Two more visitors to Demon Crowley’s Refuge for Wayward Angels. Aziraphale, would you be so kind as to introduce our new guests?_

Aziraphale rises from his seat, walks over to Crowley. Leads him first to little Hildy.

_Crowley, may I introduce Angel Hildy._

_A Scribe, I see._

_Yes, Crowley._

The Demon regards her with an intense look. Gestures to her tablet.

_And an author as well?_

_Yes. Occasionally I do pieces for the Celestial Observer._

_And some amusing little fiction tales, perchance?_

The small angel looks like a shifty librarian.

_Perhaps amusing. They seem to find a ready audience._

_Quite. And who is the Amazon over on the couch, Aziraphale?_

Aziraphale nods to Hildy, then walks with Crowley over to the sofa.

_Crowley, may I present Archangel Zamiyah. She is an houri._

_Thought you houris were skinny little translucent things. Can see I was mistaken._

_The Elect have various expectations of their rewards in the afterlife, depending upon religion._

_Must have sex with ‘em, do you? Never would have guessed Heaven kept a brothel._

_Oh, we’re more for show. There’s no lust involved. The Elect don’t have much imagination to start with. And when they get their celestial bodies in Heaven, they discover they’re no longer interested in sex._

_Typical Heaven. Taking the fun out of everything. Ever been to Earth?_

_Brazil. Last century. I was a madam._

_Really? Seems more like a job my lot would assign._

_There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance._

_Luke 15:7._

_Ah! So it is true – the Devil can quote Scripture._

_Just the bits I picked up hanging out with Christ. Always liked that Lost Sheep parable of his. What exactly are you expecting to do here on Earth?_

_I want to be a baker. All we get in Heaven is ambrosia and nectar._

Crowley turns his head to regard Aziraphale. 

_How ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Par-ee?_

Then looks back to Zamiyah:

_How good are you at making Angel Cake?_

_Wait till you try my bolo de rolo._

* * *

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm

After they've seen Paree'

How ya gonna keep 'em away from Broadway

Jazzin around and paintin' the town

How ya gonna keep 'em away from harm, that's a mystery

Imagine Reuben when he meets his Pa

He'll kiss his cheek and holler "OO-LA-LA!

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm

After they've seen Paree'?

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm

After they've seen Paree'

How ya gonna keep 'em away from Broadway

Jazzin around and paintin' the town

How ya gonna keep 'em away from harm, that's a mystery

They'll never want to see a rake or plow

And who the deuce can parleyvous a cow?

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm

After they've seen Paree'

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vkOYEtivTA>


	23. Bravery

Tadfield. Tadfield Manor parking lot. Crowley and Aziraphale exit the manor and get into the Bentley. On the way to the bookshop, Crowley breaks into _Estuans Interius_ from Carmina Burana. He gives it the full vehement rendition.

* * *

The bookshop. Crowley stalks ahead of Aziraphale into the back room, goes over to the little liquor cabinet. Takes out two bottles of raw rye whiskey. Offers one to Aziraphale.

_Just a glass for me, Crowley, thank you._

The demon uncorks a bottle, pours a few fingers into a cut crystal glass, holds it up for Aziraphale’s inspection. The angel nods approval and Crowley hands over the glass. Then takes a long drink straight from the bottle.

Flicks a hand to send his clothing off to the valet, flops onto the little Victorian settee, takes another long drink.

Aziraphale in the meantime has changed to his ratty old brown velvet dressing gown and leather slippers. Seating himself in his armchair, he takes an initial large mouthful, flinches as it goes down, and then continues to sip as they chat.

_I say, Crowley, this life in a quiet English village has got to stop. I feel as if we’ve poked a hornet’s nest. And now we can’t even escape to London._

_No worries, Aziraphale. I’ve been wanting to re-do the flat. Already have an interior designer in mind. It’ll be fun. You and me, constructing our own little nest. Just go easy on the tartan, hmmm?_

_At least tonight we persuaded Adam to provide better protection._

_Let’s hope so. I was about to give Adam a stern talking to about exerting a little authority to protect his allies. But you rounded on him nicely. I think he takes admonition from you more seriously than he does me._

_You do tend to be alarming, my dear._

_Probably shouldn’t have hissed at him. But I’m fed to the teeth with the Heavenly Host’s marauding and vandalism._

_Most un-angelic behavior._

Crowley gives him a look. Aziraphale takes a large mouthful, swallows hard, then murmurs.

_Hmm. Well. Yes. I suppose in some instances there isn’t much difference between angelic and demonic deeds._

_Adam’s in a difficult balancing act. Doesn’t want to be friendly with Satan, but doesn’t think much of the Heavenly Host, either._

_With good reason, I am saddened to admit._

_Very interested to learn what he’ll do to prevent that prick Gabriel from descending whenever he feels like it. Gabriel does have commanding power._

_But Adam is Prince of Earth._

_The Adversary of Angels, Spawn of Satan, Master of Reality._

_There is that, yes. But the child is only 13. And we aren’t exactly a mighty supernatural force. You. Me. A platoon of young demon scamps. Half a dozen renegade angels. Three witches. And a pint-sized hellhound._

Crowley’s lips twist into a snaky smile.

_Actually, I can hardly wait ‘til Gabriel and Michael try something._

_Perhaps they will attempt to take a hostage to exchange for Sandalphon?_

_Why Heaven would want Sandalphon back anyway is a mystery to me._

_Esprit de corps, I presume. Show the flag. Never abandon our own._

_But who would they pounce upon as a hostage?_

_You, of course. You’re a demon, the hereditary enemy. And they obviously know where to conveniently find you._

_Might be fun, being the bait in Adam’s mouse trap. But the thing is . . . hic . . . Unfortunately. The thing is. They might decide to exchange _you_ for Sandalphon._

_Me? No!_

_Why not?_

_I’m an angel! They wouldn’t send me to Hell._

_Only The Almighty has that privilege? Then explain how Sandalphon wound up there._

Aziraphale looks uncomfortable. Crowley growls:

_Think about it. You’re an outcast now. I’m Damned. According to the rules, I must be tormented. Best way to torment me would be to torment you, my lover. Discipline the angel traitor, torment the demon. Kill two birds with one stone. Possibly torch the bookshop as frosting on the vengeance cake. Make an example of you to persuade the other runaway angels to return to the fold._

_Crowley! You’re scaring me. Being imprisoned in a statue was terrifying enough. I don’t know if I could survive what you . . ._

Aziraphale drains his glass and chokes out:

_What you have suffered in Hell._

_Now you know why I was so insistent on Adam implementing some sort of protection. It wasn’t the loss of the London flat I was worried about._

_I will not be abducted again! The worst they can do is discorporate me. And I know how to get back to Earth now._

_With Madame Tracy handy for an emergency possession?_

Crowley grins at Aziraphale. Drains his bottle. Tosses the two giant pillows onto the Persian carpet.

_C’mon. Let’s lie down. We both could use a hug._

Crowley glides off the settee onto the pillows. Aziraphale sheds his robe and slippers, lies facing the demon. Strokes Crowley’s silky chest fluff. The demon gives a little shiver of pleasure as his nipples harden under the angel’s icy touch.

_Crowley. How can you be so brave and insouciant about everything?_

_I’m not brave. Generally, I can be relied upon to scream and run away. And I don’t care, because I’ve already lost everything. Except for you. You’re all I care about. You’re the brave one, Angel._

Crowley caresses Aziraphale’s belly.

_Soft on the outside. Tough on the inside._

They suddenly clutch one another in a tight embrace, fingers digging into flesh, legs entwined. And go immediately into Divine Ecstasy. Despite the alcohol consumption. It’s been that kind of day.

* * *

Heaven. Gabriel, Michael, The Twins, and Quartermaster are conferring in the airy executive suite overlooking Earth’s monuments. Baraquiel is busily taking notes on his tablet.

Quartermaster:

_I shall be extremely reluctant to order the re-issue of Earth-capable bodies for those ten angels._

Gabriel:

_Agree with you 100% on that one, Quartermaster. Let ‘em float around emptying wastebaskets for Housekeeping for a couple of centuries._

Michael turns to The Twins:

_Did their interrogations reveal what happened to Sandalphon?_

_No. They were all discorporated before they could witness anything._

Gabriel:

_Think he’s done a bunk?_

_No way of knowing. We have no London ground team. Other than Ammun, of course._

Michael sneers:

_We could have left him in Morocco for all the good he does. No word from him since Uriel ran off._

Gabriel looks as if a shocking idea has just now occurred to him:

_Think Ammun and Uriel are colluding?_

Gabriel and Michael do not see The Twins giving one another side-eye, but Baraquiel does. And then he looks alert to listen to something on his headset. As if on cue:

_Speak of the De- Er. Incoming call from Ammun. I’ll put him on speaker._

_Gabriel? Michael? Who ’m I talking to?_

_Me, Michael, Dorrie, Aida, and Baraquiel. We were just talking about you. And your disturbing lack of reports from London._

_You’ll not be disappointed by this one. I’ll be brief. Sandalphon and ten angels sacked Demon Crowley’s flat. Crowley’s human bodyguard discorporated the angels. Beelzebub captured Sandalphon. Correction: Beelze-BUL captured that fat rat. She’s changed her name back. Not a lion again, though. You see a winged tiger approaching, look out._

Michael interjects:

_And you’ve learned all this exactly how, Ammun?_

_Gabriel isn’t the only one with backchannel connections, Michael. Call the Prince of Hell yourselves if you don’t believe me. Now, were I Sandalphon, I’d be hoping you lot would be making every effort to get me out. Likely he isn’t being entertained by singing and dancing down there._

_And just what else did your backchannel connections have to say, Ammun?_

_That’s all. As for me, you have my congratulations on such a dead brilliant move. Authorizing an action like that against Satan’s feckless little pet Crowley. Made the Heavenly Host look like a limping pack of asses, right enough._

Ammun disconnects. 

* * *

London. Ammun and Uriel’s apartment over their freight warehouse. Ammun drops his Heaven phone back into its Faraday pouch, drops it into the soundproofed drawer, closes the drawer, reaches into the overhead cabinet and pulls out a bottle.

_Fancy a glass of this Tarquin’s that Crowley brought back from Falmouth?_

_Let’s just bring the bottle with us. Drink it on the road._

_Right-o, my love. Tadfield, here we come._

Uriel taps her phone as they exit the apartment.

_We’re on our way._

* * *

I still like the Leonard Slatkin conducting version of Carmina Burana:

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-I9UGrw9E4>

But this visual interpretation of the _Estuans Interius_ lyrics is also helpful?

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQLSquD8uYM>


	24. Servants

Tadfield. Hallway outside guest lounge at Tadfield Manor. The five disposable demons are still loitering as Crowley and Aziraphale exit. 

_You lot. Follow me._

Crowley leads them outside to where the Bentley is parked. One of the Erics opens the passenger door for Aziraphale, who gets in. Before Crowley assumes his driver’s seat, he stands at the door and growls at the disposable demons:

_You two Erics. You’re assigned to shadow Zamiyah. Tadfield Manny, you get Bituin. Jin gets the scribe Hildy. Tell ‘em you’re their personal servants or whatever, but stick like glue and don’t take no for an answer._

He gives them a look. They cluster closer together. The others bow slightly, but Tadfield Manny raises his chin.

_We heed and obey, Demon Crowley._

_Ammun and Uriel are on their way to move the angels to my farm for lodging. You will reside with them there. I trust the presence of Ammun and Uriel will not frighten you?_

Obviously, from the little group’s reaction, the prospect does indeed unnerve them. But two Mannys swagger to the front and glance back at their three peers.

_What’re they gonna do to us? ‘S not like they’re Lord Beelzebul._

_Damn straight, Manny. That’s the right attitude. Continue your daily reports to Lieutenants DeeDee and Eric. They’ll keep the big boss informed._

Crowley gets into the Bentley, and it takes off with a spray of gravel. Tadfield Manny regards the others:

_‘S weird. Eric seems to remember who he was before he got discorporated. I expected him to be a space case now. But he’s not. You think fucking an angel has some side benefits?_

The other four consider this for a moment. Then Jin pipes up:

_Lord Legion possessed him and DeeDee. She forgets nothing._

The other four involuntarily shudder.

_Fuck. Let’s get back inside and stick like glue to our angel charges._

Oxford Manny looks at the two Erics and laughs:

_You two got the hot seat, didn’t you?_

The Erics are the picture of anxiety. They hold hands as the group walks back to the manor.

* * *

The guest lounge at Tadfield Manor. Manny moves an armchair closer to Bituin and plops himself into it.

_Get you another bubble tea, angel? I’m your personal servant now. Demon Crowley’s orders._

_I don’t need a servant._

_Tough. I serve you or I get fried and sent back to Hell. Have some mercy, angel._

_Tch. You mean you’re a spy. Crowley does not trust us._

_Why in Hell should he?_

_Point taken._

_Are you really here ‘cause you’re mad at your coworkers? Like you said?_

_Would I tell you, Mr. Spy, if I wasn’t?_

_I thought you angels can’t lie._

_We can’t. Although I’ve heard some 180 degree prevarications to the higher ups._

_Done some yourself, too, amirite?_

_Well, no, actually. I always tell the plain truth. Which is probably why I never got promoted. You have to tell the higher ups what they want to hear. I lack that talent. So they never listen to me._

Manny regards the little pink frosted chocolate cupcake.

_You look like you’re about age 15 but you sound like you’re two hundred. Cynical, like._

_Mental arthritis is an epidemic in the hierarchy. ‘S why I like playing with humanity’s computers. Nothing stays the same for more than ten minutes. Stay sharp, do the upgrades, or pay the price._

Manny laughs.

_Demon Crowley made ‘em pay up quite a bit, I hear._

_Yes. Even if it’s only earthly treasure. It’s still a disgrace. I . . . I just couldn’t take it a minute longer. We’re supposed to be the good ones, not the stupid ones._

_Think you’ll ever go back?_

_I think I’d take a chance on Hell first._

_No! Don’t say that! Don’t even think it! You have no idea what it’s like down there._

Bituin is silent for awhile as she inspects Manny’s face. Then, softly:

_Yeah. That was a stupid thing to say. I should not have made light of your sufferings._

_No worries. Principality Ammun and Angel Uriel are coming to take us to our lodgings at Crowley’s farm. Wanna ride bikes there instead?_

_Sure. You could use the practice._

_C’mon then._

The two trot out of the room.

* * *

Jin meanwhile has had a brief conversation with Hildy at her desk. They pause and watch Bituin and Manny exit. Then:

_So you’re my Girl Friday, Jin?_

_What’s that?_

Hildy thinks a brief moment.

_Stale sexist and racist human slang for a female assistant. I should not have used the term._

Jin shrugs.

_At least you don’t make me kowtow. Can I really be your assistant, and not just your servant?_

_How’s your calligraphy?_

Jin grimaces.

_So-so. I’ve painted more walls than scrolls. Mostly been the slave of archdemons sent to corrupt towns and villages._

_You worked with Daji?_

Jin shudders.

_No! I got lucky about that, at least._

_Where is Daji now, anyway? The Principality Xuanwu says she showed up in Shanghai briefly, then disappeared._

Jin looks around, as if to see who might be listening. Then whispers:

_Demon Crowley’s human bodyguard extinguished Daji. With a holy water gun._

_No! You don’t say!_

_I do say. And this same bodyguard discorporated ten angels today. With one of those big guns humans carry._

Jin puts down her tablet and stylus. 

_Are you mocking me with demonic lies?_

_No. Ask Demon Crowley if you don’t believe me._

_Right. I should ask another lying demon._

_Ask Angel Aziraphale, then. He was there. Both times._

Jin stares off into the room. Then:

_You do realize I’ve been a reporter for the Celestial Observer, don’t you?_

_Aren’t you still?_

_Not exactly. I was demoted to junior scribe in Archives when I wrote an article that Gabriel found offensive._

_What about?_

_About Gabriel being turned into a golden statue and shipped off to the church in Tadfield._

_I can tell you all about that, too. My friend Tadfield DeeDee was there when it happened._

_Perhaps later. What happened to those ten angels this afternoon?_

_They destroyed Demon Crowley’s London flat. Archangel Sandalphon led them._

_You’re joking. Sandalphon?_

_I tell you, I am not joking. Demon Crowley says that's who it was._

_Last I heard, Sandalphon was sent to Housekeeping as punishment for colluding with a demon to assassinate Adam the Antichrist. Frankly, I’m still surprised he wasn’t Damned for that stunt. Attempted child murder. By an angel. Dreadful._

_Well, he got what’s coming to him this afternoon, then, all right. Lord Beelzebul appeared and carried him down to Hell._

_Good Heavens! Beelzebul? You don’t mean Beelzebub?_

_She has changed her name back to what she was called millennia ago. And her corporation. She is now a tiger. With eagle wings._

_Not a fly anymore?_

_No. I haven’t been down there to see in person. But I can show you a picture._

The little demon gets out her phone, scrolls through it a bit, then hands it to Hildy.

_Bloody Heaven. This is an actual video, not a panto?_

_Yes. Want to see Leysa shoot down the angels?_

_I couldn’t be more keen._

Jin taps and starts the video. 

_It’s a bit jerky. Lot of excitement going on._

Hildy watches, then murmurs:

_I’d like to be a fly on the wall when those ten angels appear in Quartermaster’s office._

_What happens in Quartermaster’s office?_

_He’s in charge of permission for reincorporation._

_Sort of like our Reincorporation Ward demon?_

_Probably. Does your demon require lots of paperwork and a very long wait?_

_And how. Plus, Beelzebul usually assigns a treatment in the Sulfur Spa. To encourage us to be more careful next time._

_The Sulfur Spa?_

_The blue pools of molten sulfur along the shore of the Lake of Fire._

_Jin, are you sure you should be telling me all this?_

_No worries. We disposable demons must report everything to Lord Beelzebul. If she doesn’t want you to know, I would be forbidden to speak to you._

_Beelzebul knows I am on Earth?_

_Of course._

Hildy sits silently for a long while. Then murmurs:

_I foresee the beginning of a beautiful partnership._


	25. Adam, Angels, Demons.  And Ducks.

Tadfield. Manny and the angel Bituin are bicycling to Crowley’s Croll Farm. As they pass through Hogback Lane, Dog comes running out of Adam’s house and chases after them. Manny stops his bike and awkwardly dismounts as dog yaps and jumps around him.

_Dammit, Dog. I’m a demon. You’re a hellhound. Don’t you know whose side you’re on?_

Dog stops and regards the disposable demon. Manny snaps his fingers and a gobbet of something appears in his hand. He squats before Dog and offers him the tidbit. Dog cocks his head a moment, takes a cautious sniff, then snaps up the treat. Licks his chops. Bituin meanwhile has stopped, dismounted, and parked her bike. She walks up.

_What was that you gave him?_

_Piece of liver._

_Beef liver?_

_Best not to ask. This animal ate an Eric once._

_I find that hard to believe._

_Well, a few bites, at least. Eric discorporated when something vital got chewed._

_Tch. Liar. A little dog like this could maybe kill a chicken. Or a rat._

_He was a lot bigger when he was in Hell. I was assigned kennel duty back then. Was a matter of luck that they shoved Eric into this animal’s cage and not me._

Adam has by this time come out the front gate and joined the group. Dog jumps into his arms.

_Hi everybody._

Bituin is surprised when Manny leaps to his feet, extends his arms, and bows low.

_Young Master._

_You’re a London Manny, right? You don’t have to bow. Sorry about Dog. He loves to chase bikes._

_Chasing is all right. Ripping up my sock was a bit rude, though._

_He did that just now?_

_Nah. When we were out biking with DeeDee. Earlier this afternoon. He almost made me crash my bike. Figured I’d better stop him this time._

Dog barks. Adam sets him down. The little hellhound trots over and sits by Manny’s feet. Looks up at him expectantly.

_Can I give him another treat?_

_Maybe just a back scratch above his tail. He likes that._

Manny crouches on one knee to pet Dog, who wriggles in pleasure as Manny’s firm and very warm hand scratches the special tickle spot and moves up to massage behind his ears. Adam turns to Bituin.

_You’re one of the new angels? Angel Bituin?_

Manny leaps up again.

_Oh! Sorry, Young Master. Thought you already knew. May I present the Angel Bituin. She’s a computer geek. Bituin, this is Adam Young, the Antichrist._

_Hello, Adam. I’ve looked forward to meeting you._

Adam regards the petite pink angel with the Hello Kitty hoodie.

_Are you the same age as DeeDee?_

_Probably not. Although our corporations both look young._

Manny has in the meantime gone over to his bike. Dog follows. The two regard one another.

_OK, my friend. Can I get back on my bike now? Without having my foot savaged?_

_I’ll get my bike and come with you. C’mon, Dog._

Adam runs off into his yard to fetch his bicycle. Bituin looks at Manny.

_I had no idea. He looks like a young god._

_You were expecting someone like me, maybe? Dark and devilishly handsome?_

Bituin’s eyeroll is epic. 

Arthur Young comes to the door just at Adam is exiting the gate with his bike, Dog sitting in the basket.

_Adam, it’s too late in the evening to be riding about!_

_‘S all right, Dad. I won’t be gone long. We’re just going to Crowley’s farm._

Adam races off, and the two supernatural beings hasten to follow him. Arthur calls out:

_Turn on your lights!_

* * *

Tadfield. Rain is starting to fall. The yard in front of the old stone farmhouse at Crowley’s Croll Farm. The meeting of supernatural beings has broken up. Crowley and Aziraphale have exited the gate and are about to get into the Bentley, when Adam runs up rolling his bike.

_Can I have a ride back home? Dad and Mum will be mad if I come back soaking wet._

_Sure, Adam. Hop in._

Aziraphale magics a bike rack onto the back of the car. Adam stows his bike, then climbs into the back seat of the Bentley. Just as the three drive off, two DeeDees come barreling down the lane on their bicycles, waving at the Bentley occupants as they pass. Parking their bikes out of the rain in a lean-to shed, they rush into the old farmhouse. Less than a minute later, they run outside, pulling a Manny and Jin by the hand, the other Manny following.

_C’mon! It’s going to rain hard! Let’s go to the pond!_

Within sight of the old farmhouse is the duckpond. Actually a small lake, overhead in depth, complete with water lilies and cat tails, a shrubby island for nesting swans, short pier, and a rowing dinghy. By the time the group has crossed the grassy field, heavy rain sizzles the water surface. Tadfield DeeDee runs out onto the pier, magics off her clothes, and leaps into the water. 

_Wahoooooooo!_

The other four demons hesitate a moment, then do likewise. 

_Doesn’t this feel great? . . ._

They can all swim like otters, and are soon splashing and yelling with delight.

* * *

Back in the farmhouse, Uriel and Ammun watch from the front window.

_That pond can’t be warmer than 12 degrees._

_She says it feels good on their hot skin. Was over here nearly every thunderstorm last summer, playing in the pond._

Indignant quacking sounds can be heard faintly through the window.

_Sounds like they’ve awakened the ducks._

_Long as they don’t disturb the swan pair on the island._

_DeeDee knows the swans are there again. You should have seen her and the cob having a hissing match last summer._

_Who won?_

_They reached a rapprochement and formed an alliance. Swans and DeeDee versus the ducks and those two geese._

_The gay ganders?_

_Yup._

_Where are the Erics? I don’t see them in the group._

_Zamiyah had them come with her to her room._

The two angels turn to regard one another. A Significant Look passes between them.

_Doesn’t waste time setting to work, does she?_


	26. Middle Age

Tadfield. The dark and rainy night. The back room of the book shop. Aziraphale and Crowley have come out of their hours of Divine Ecstasy, and are lying side by side on the carpet, heads propped on elbows as they regard one another. Aziraphale holds Crowley’s hand.

_I say, Crowley, I keep thinking about that remark the angel Bituin made about our being “old.”_

_What of it? Surely you’re not miffed by what that little bit thinks?_

_Oh no. She’s a rank amateur compared to Michael and Gabriel when it comes to demeaning personal remarks._

_Since when is being older than 15 demeaning?_

_Perhaps I’ve simply been on Earth too long. Material beings do lose physical beauty as they age._

_But they gain in wisdom and power._

_Odd how the two aspects seldom coincide, don’t you think?_

_They did in Lucifer and Beelzebub. And look what happened to them. Do you suppose The Almighty took a lesson from that?_

_What do you mean, Crowley?_

_That she’s not making the same mistake with material beings?_

A distant rumble of thunder can be heard.

_Uh oh. I’d better shut up._

_The Almighty does not make mistakes, Crowley._

_Right. Yes. True. Absolutely correct. No mistakes. Who are we to fathom the ineffable, anyway, with our ignorant little minds._

The two listen for a minute. Silence.

Aziraphale notices Crowley’s eyes do that little squint as if suppressing tears before starting to glow orange with anger.

_Crowley. We’re together. I love you._

Aziraphale pets the demon’s velvety fade. Crowley sighs and relaxes. Then a sly grin appears on his face.

_So tell me, Angel, why are you so worried about being considered attractive by anyone other than me, hmmmmm? Thinking of getting a little side action? One of those handsome disposable demons, perhaps?_

_Really, my dear. What a perfectly ridiculous notion. The very idea!_

Aziraphale looks uncomfortable.

_As if anyone would find me attractive, anyway. I’m so fusty compared to you. Sometimes I worry that I’m an embarrassment to you._

_Don’t be an ass, Angel. You’re an enhancement, not an embarrassment. I’m one damned lucky demon._

He takes Aziraphale’s hand and kisses it.

_And anyway, I’m never embarrassed. Nor have I ever noticed that particular sentiment in you, either. Dignified, yes. Indignant, yes. Shifty, yes. Embarrassed? Never._

_Shifty? I suspect we’re _both_ past masters of that._

Crowley glances upward.

_Thank The Almighty for a talent that’s gotten us through six thousand years._

Aziraphale gives him the eyeball.

_Suck up._

_Damn straight._

The demon ruffles the angel’s wooly hair, gazes upon him through half-closed yellow eyes.

_So. Angel. Are we agreed that we maintain middle-aged human corporations because if we appeared as the magnificent celestial beings we are, we’d be drawing crowds? And that would be awkward? Thus we go about as randy old donkeys, to ensure everyone keeps their distance?_

Aziraphale rolls onto his back, laughing: 

_Donkeys? A pair of asses? Our record stands behind us on that. Have we ever done anything right?_

_Let’s hope not._

Crowley slithers atop him, then wrestles them both over so he’s underneath Aziraphale. Growls in a mock-sexy baritone:

_My sweet Titania, let Bottom be bottom._

Aziraphale morphs into his creamy female corporation. 

_Bottom on top?_

_Suffice the foolish puns for the groundlings. Kiss me, my love._

More hours of Divine Ecstasy ensue.

* * *

Tadfield. The dark and rainy night. The old stone farmhouse at Crowley’s Croll farm. As the conference of supernatural beings breaks up, Archangel Zamiyah puts an arm around the waist of each of the Erics. They jump as if electrocuted.

_Come with me, my new assistants._

She releases them as they enter the narrow hallway, shooing them ahead and up a stairway to her suite at the far end of the house. As she closes the door, they turn to her, radiating distress. She draws close. They step backward.

_Archangel Zamiyah. . . . Please. . . . Demon Crowley has assigned us to be your assistants. . . . But we find your corporation seductive. . . . We don’t want to be incubi. . . . Please don’t tempt us. . . . We feel humiliated._

_Tempt you? I’m an angel. We do not tempt. We provide kindness and blessings._

She lays a hand upon each of their shoulders.

_It is my duty to be beautiful and attractive. To humans. No angel has ever responded to me as you are._

The two Erics look at one another.

_Is it because we’re damned? . . . We feel lust? . . . Like humans? . . . This is our torment?_

_I think not. Celestial bodies are not the same as material beings. I know the difference between desire and lust. What you desire is love. Comfort. And that is what I can provide._

She draws them to her and gives them a joint hug. They shudder, then clutch her as if clinging to a palm tree in a hurricane.

The trio stands silently locked together for a long while. Then Zamiyah murmurs:

_Let us go to the bed. You will lie down next to me. I will learn about baking cakes, while you enjoy some cuddling._

She snaps her fingers. Her clothing vanishes, and a tablet appears in her hand. The stupefied Erics watch as the angel sways voluptuously over to the bed, props up the pillows, reclines as if getting set to read. Sets the tablet on her lap, pats the puffy duvet beneath her.

_Come._

The two demons wobble up and kneel alongside. She snaps her fingers and their clothing vanishes. The angel extends her arms.

_You may touch me._

The Erics collapse on either side of her like two noodles. Zamiyah enfolds them in her arms, stroking their shoulders as hot hands clutch her breasts. Two burning erections press against her cold silken thighs. Both Erics release into Divine Ecstasy. Zamiyah flicks a finger, levitating her tablet to reading level, and watches a Great British Bake Off program.


	27. Sword

Tadfield. Pepper’s house. Afternoon tea. Pepper, her mums Janet and Georgia, Aziraphale, and Adam are seated about the living room, enjoying the last of their cups and crumbs. Crowley walks in wielding an ancient steel sword. Perches on the seat edge of a small stuffed brocade chair and places the weapon across his knees, treating it as a loaded gun and being careful to point it toward the door and away from everyone.

A blue heeler puppy whines and struggles to hop onto the couch next to Pepper. Snuggles down close to her, watching the sword with anxious eyes.

_Ha! Your little familiar recognizes what this is._

_She’s not a familiar, Crowley. And I am not a witch._

_We’ll see about that, shall we? Come, take a look at this thing._

_It’s just an old sword. Did you steal it from some archaeological site? Or a museum?_

_Not “just” an old sword, Witch Pepper. A gladius. The angel Sandalphon’s sword. He dropped it when Beelzebub carried him off to Hell. I picked it up and stowed it in the Bentley’s boot._

Janet and Georgia have not yet heard this tale. Eyes lock in concerned gazes. But before either of the women can speak, Adam jumps up to take a closer look.

_A gladius. That’s from Ancient Rome, right? Can you make it flame?_

_Not me, kid. Would probably fry me if I tried. Witch Pepper would enjoy seeing that, no doubt. But Angel here would be sad. Aziraphale, do you want to do a demo?_

_I . . . well, not really, Crowley. I’d feel polluted, somehow. Sandalphon, you know._

_‘Fraid you’ll catch his cooties?_

_Perhaps. Something like that._

_Mum, hold Dibbun._

Pepper delivers the frightened puppy to Georgia. Strides over to Crowley, takes up the weapon, holds it before her as if it’s a stick of kabobs.

_See? It’s just a crummy old sword._

Crowley rises from his chair and stands slightly behind Pepper.

_Don’t be so sure about that, Pepper. You have a familiar now to help focus your powers. And I, conveniently, am the required demon. Already nearby. No summoning hocus pocus needed. Take my hand._

_No._

_Pep, do what he asks. I’d kinda like to see what happens._

_Just keep the sword pointed up and away from everyone._

Crowley extends his hand. Keeping a firm grip on the sword and extending her arm a bit to the side, Pepper reluctantly holds the demon’s palm. None of the Them other than Adam has ever actually touched Crowley.

_Wow! Your hand is hot!_

_Fresh off the grill. Now, this might tingle a bit._

_What are you going to do?_

_Transfer some power. You concentrate on making the sword flame. Ready? On the count of three. . . Unus. Duo. Tres. . ._

WHOOMPF. Red and orange flames flicker the length of the sword.

_Wicked!_

Adam is gleeful. Pepper, not so much. Stares at the flaming weapon in dismay.

_What do I want an old flaming sword for?_

Crowley growls:

_If you can make it flame, it’s yours. Change it to whatever you want._

A brief frown of concentration crosses Pepper’s brow, and then the sword transforms into a slim red-flaming katana.

_That’s more like it!_

Georgia rises from her chair.

_Anthony! Stop that thing!_

The demon grins. Releases Pepper’s hand. The sword continues to flame.

_Shut it down, if you can, Pepper._

_Of course I can._

The sword extinguishes. But is nonetheless still a formidable blade, even without the flames. An irregular dark wavy pattern can be observed on its satiny steel. Pepper paid keen attention when Inoue San showed her his small but choice collection of antique Japanese weapons.

_Wait ‘til Inoue San sees this! He can help me find a good scabbard._

_You three still doing practice sessions? Despite lockdown?_

Janet interjects:

_Of course not, Anthony. Inoue San is getting on in years. We have no wish to endanger him._

_Janet, Inoue is in no danger if Aziraphale is around. The sooner this sword is safely accoutered, the better. Or were you thinking of displaying it over the couch?_

_Don’t get shirty, Anthony._

Aziraphale murmurs:

_Janet. Georgia. Perhaps I might explain better how serious this situation is. The only human – if you can call her that – who has ever wielded a flaming sword since Adam is the Second Rider of the Apocalypse. War._

Silence falls all around the room. Then Pepper, in a subdued voice:

_Mum. Maybe we’d better see Inoue San right away._

Crowley turns to Aziraphale.

_Aziraphale. Don’t you members of the Heavenly Host simply keep your swords out of sight? In eighteenth dimensional storage, I believe you once told me?_

_Yes, Crowley. I was just about to suggest that. You stole the words right from my mouth._

The angel turns to Pepper.

_That way the sword is always ready when one needs it, you see. I will demonstrate._

Aziraphale assumes the chudan stance. Janet and Georgia gasp as the angel’s flaming blue katana blinks into existence. And then it disappears.

_You see? I suspect if you can ignite your sword, you also possess the power to properly store it. Why don’t I hold your hand, and we’ll see if you can find the pathway to storage?_

Pepper steps over to Aziraphale. 

_Probably best we face away from the others, my dear._

The pair turn toward the doorway. Pepper assumes the chudan stance with her sword. Aziraphale lays his palm over her lower hand. 

_Now ignite it. Store it aflame, so it will be instantly ready._

Flames flare and snap along the sword.

_Now relax your mind and follow my path._

A brief moment of hesitation, then the sword disappears.

_Well done! Now bring it back._

The flaming weapon reappears in Pepper’s hands. She sends it to storage a second time. Aziraphale pats her on the shoulder.

_Excellent work, my dear. Now, I think it would be unwise to reveal this to Inoue Sensei. Best not to excite hu- . . . other humans about these weapons. Your possession of this sword should not be known by anyone other than those present here now._

He gives Crowley a significant glance.

_Supernatural entities included._

_Yep. Couldn’t agree more. “At first, move like a modest maiden, and the enemy will open his door.”_

_How often you astound me, Crowley._

Aziraphale regards the others.

_Sunzi. Art of War._

Adam interjects:

_Except for Wensley and Brian, of course._

_If you say so, Young Master._

The puppy struggles and jumps from Georgia’s arms. Scampers over to crouch atop Pepper’s feet. Yaps a sharp little bark at Crowley. The tall demon regards the small dog.

_Right. So we’re good now?_

He crouches on his heels and magics a small ball to hand. Flicks it into a short arc through the air. The puppy leaps and catches it on the first try. Retreats to Pepper’s feet and looks up at Crowley as if to say, _“Just try and take it from me.”_ Crowley cocks his head, then turns away as if uninterested. The puppy drops the ball. Quick as a snake, Crowley snatches it, holds it up provokingly. Dibbun jumps and yaps. Crowley flicks the ball toward Dog. The two animals scramble after the ball, but Dog gets it first. Dog sets it on the floor. Dibbun feints. Dog snatches the ball up. Tosses his head so it bounces as it drops, and lets Dibbun catch it. The two animals continue their game until the ball rolls under the couch. Crowley flicks a finger, and the toy rolls out on Dibbun’s side. Barking and scrabbling resume. 

Janet gets up to protectively stand by the small tea table.

_Pepper, Adam, I think it’s time to take those two outside. Before they knock over a lamp or something._

* * *

Tadfield. Some days later, following a pizza party at Janet & Georgia’s house. The two mums have just turned in for the night. They hold hands, lie staring at the ceiling. Georgia murmurs:

_Never in ten million years would I have expected life in a quite English village to become what seems to be the staging area for the Apocalypse._

_Pepper says that already happened three summers past. Or I should say, didn’t happen. Which is why we’re all still here._

Georgia turns her head to look at Janet, then sighs heavily.

_At this point, I have no reason to disbelieve any of that. What’s coming next, do you suppose? A second try? Looks as if Pestilence is up and running, for starters._

_Well, at least a couple more angels have joined the team._

_That six foot seven woman is like a magnet to Pepper._

_Yes. And a magnet to those two young demons of Crowley’s._

_Tell me I was hallucinating when she said she used to be a madam in a Brazilian whorehouse._

_I nearly slopped wine down my front._

_That honey cake Bella taught her how to bake is divine, however._

Georgia thinks a moment, then:

_The little silver-haired woman is the one to watch out for, in my estimation. She doesn’t miss a trick. Slippery as quicksilver, if you ask me._

_Yes. A right little fox._

Janet chuckles.

_And then there’s that sweet pink poppet. Rather amusing, don’t you think, the way that badboy demon slouches around and tweaks her?_

_While she talks of nothing but gobbledygook about computers? Acts as if he’s a handy piece of furniture, and not a stone cold psychopath?_

Janet mimes a two-part conversation:

_“And so I told him, Ruby on Rails isn’t dead, it’s evolving. But I prefer to use Python.” “I love it when you talk dirty.”_

Georgia guffaws. But it’s now Janet’s turn to sigh.

_You actually do consider Manny a psychopath, Georgia?_

_Well, he may look as if he just stepped off a movie set, but I find him far more sinister than the Erics._

_That bodyguard for Bella’s daughter is another Manny, isn’t he?_

_Yes. Must be difficult for her, having a young man like that hanging about scaring off all your dates._

_She doesn’t seem to mind him. Or to be intimidated by him, for that matter. Pepper says Karen, Manny, Wensley, and Brian are a team on some sort of online video game._

Georgia sighs.

_Of course they are. Well, it’s certainly good that the Mannys are integrating into our little group of teens. Instead of the local crime underworld. I just hope Anthony keeps the rest of them in London._

_So Anthony and his Erics and Mannys fit the demon stereotype pretty well, even if they’re swanking around in Prada instead of red leotards. But the angels? Not exactly floating about in gauzy robes and haloes now, are they? That genial little demon Jin and angel Hildy, for instance, are like flip sides of a coin._

_Hound and fox pals?_

_Yes. That’s an apt metaphor._

_And the DeeDees could certainly be termed little devils, but not in an evil way._

_Tracy and the vicar seem to have accepted the twin with a remarkable lack of fluster and concern._

_Well, DeeDee Number One worships Aziraphale. Could hardly have a better influence than that, eh?_

Georgia laughs:

_I can see it now. The movie trailer: “A mis-matched band of supernatural renegades takes on Heaven and Hell in this thrilling action adventure. . .”_

_Unhhhhh . . . And our daughter Pepper is now a flaming sword warrior._

_Who was definitely fascinated by Manny. Despite herself._

_You caught that, too, I noticed. Took it up with Anthony, didn’t you?_

_Yes. He reassured me that all his little minions have been warned to steer clear of Pepper or “be fried into a splash of grease.” That’s a direct quote._

_You know, how about I go fetch the Christmas brandy and we each have a snifter?_

_Yes. Let’s. With a slice of honey cake._

_And a dollop of ice cream._

_A large snifter. And a large dollop._

The two women climb out of bed, toss on their robes and slippers, and head for the kitchen.


	28. Not Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A riff on being creative but never feeling quite good enough.

Tadfield. Back room of the bookshop. Tea time. Crowley and Aziraphale are seated on the carpet, backs supported by the giant pillows propped at the base of Aziraphale’s armchair. They’re sharing a bottle of Bollinger.

_Here’s to Divine Ecstasy. The very best way to spend a day in lockdown._

Flutes chime together in a toast.

_How are your Disposable Demons faring under lockdown, Crowley? Must be hard on them._

_Nope. They’re all busy learning new things. Plus the usual dancing and games. Still, absolutely diabolical of Hell, offloading that pack onto me._

_Michael-avelian level of personnel management?_

_Not even close. I keep telling you, Angel, Michael is totally outmatched by Beelzebul. Case in point: Do you see any demons bailing out of Hell and fleeing to Earth, as the angels seem to be doing?_

_It’s just a few angels, Crowley. And we don’t know for sure that they’re runaways._

_Hekla?_

_Well. Yes. Point taken. Still, it’s only a few others._

_That’s not the scuttlebutt I’m hearing. Word on the demonic street is that angels are descending all over the planet. Not just Tadfield._

_My word. They imagine life on Earth is preferable to Heaven?_

_See, that’s just it. Demons have learned that Earth is Hell Squared. And both The Heavenly Host and The Fallen think so highly of the place that they were 100% prepared to torch the whole shebang into burning goo just a few short years ago. Remember?_

_Well of course I remember. Don’t be an ass. But Crowley, your Disposable Demons prefer Earth to Hell. Doesn’t that contradict your theory that only angels are fleeing to Earth?_

_The Disposable Demons aren’t here of their own volition. They’ve been sent. And they like it here because for them - and them alone - Earth is an improvement. They never get the fun of tormenting The Damned. Cleanup duty and scut work only. So the question remains: Are angelic rats fleeing a sinking ship?_

_Hmm. Hekla hinted at dissatisfaction among the ranks, did she not? The burgeoning crowds of The Elect that must be looked after. And what tiresome souls they are._

_Whereas in Hell, The Fallen truly enjoy their work. Hate humans with a passion, genuinely enjoy torturing The Damned. Although I hear rumors that they’re fast-tracking the lesser sinners straight to the lava pits. Only expending personnel on tailored torments for the heavy evildoers._

_Do you suppose angels are skipping out of Heaven as a consequence of chaos caused by the destruction of the archives?_

Crowley grins.

_Supervisors have lost track of the chain of command and workflow? So staff are taking the opportunity to slip away for some unauthorized vacay? Bit of excitement, going slumming among those rascally human sinners?_

_There must be something more involved. We angels are so terribly earnest. It’s difficult to imagine anyone actually skiving off to Earth. As for being unnoticed by supervisors, I’m guessing Zamiyah’s absence has not been unobserved. She’s an archangel, not a ranker. Says she was the duenna for the other houris. They must be wondering where she’s gone._

_Maybe it’s time to do some espionage against The Heavenly Host._

_Crowley._

_What, Angel?_

_You’re contemplating some dangerous scheme, aren’t you._

_Who, me? Dangerous? Furthest thing from my mind._

Aziraphale regards the demon with a long and searching gaze. Then:

_You know my opinion about evil plans always containing the seeds of their own destruction._

_Yes. You’re most tedious on that point._

_Tell me I’m mistaken._

_Well. No. Can’t actually say that overwhelming evidence doesn’t support your thesis._

_Yet you persist in thinking that, somehow, this time will be different?_

_What about your other opinion that, deep down inside, I’m not really evil?_

_Humpf. I suppose you do somehow manage to pull the fat from the fire at the very last minute. We’re both still here, at any rate._

_You have to admit, it makes for an entertaining existence._

_“Harrowing” might be a more apt term._

Crowley shrugs.

_It’s gonna be that in any event. Heaven, Hell, Earth – none of them are exactly optimal choices for a place to exist, now are they? Heaven Is boring, Hell is terrifying, and Earth is the worst of both._

_Except for humanity’s remarkable imagination and inventiveness._

_True. Knocks all spots off angels and demons both. Like finding gems in the manure pile. Fucking ineffable how that works out, isn’t it?_

_I need more champagne, Crowley. Be right back._

Aziraphale gets up and goes over to the tiny refrigerator, returns with a fresh bottle. Sits back alongside Crowley, uncorks the bottle, refreshes both their glasses. They sit and sip, holding hands in silence for a long while, skirting around the brain cramp that contemplation of The Ineffable Plan inevitably causes.

_Changing the subject, Angel, what’s that book you’re reading? Doesn’t look very old._

_It’s not. Third volume of a 1934 edition of Burton’s translation of The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night. I like to read this edition because it’s not expensive and has diverting line illustrations._

_I was a subscriber to the first edition. Pretty hot stuff at the time. 1885, wasn’t it?_

_Ah. The Kama Shastra Society set. Amun asked if I could find a set for him, so I’ve lent him one of my extras. Got me interested in re-reading it._

_I still have my set. Was going to give it to you, but you weren’t speaking to me after that spat we had about the holy water. It’s in storage. You want it?_

_Oh, Crowley. What a fool I was._

_Yes. You were._

A flutter of sadness across Aziraphale’s face. Crowley grimaces, murmurs:

_Let’s display the volumes prominently on the bookshelf wall of the redecorated flat._

He gives Aziraphale a long smooch.

* * *

Tadfield. Sunrise. The back room of the bookshop. Windows are shuttered, so the lighting is still dim. Aziraphale and Crowley are stretched out on the giant pillows atop the Persian carpet, Crowley asleep in the angel’s arms. Aziraphale, who never sleeps, is self-illuminating the book he’s reading (haloes do come in handy).

Crowley begins to stir. Aziraphale magics a page marker and sets aside his book.

_I say, Crowley, may I get you a cappuccino?_

_Ngk._

Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, actually likes to operate the espresso machine instead of simply expecting it to produce a cup of coffee. Thus pass some minutes of rustling and rattling and grinding. In the meantime, Crowley has snapped to. He rises, then walks over to where Aziraphale, clad only in a chef’s apron, is busy at the tiny counter.

_Morning, Angel. Just an apron, eh?_

_Wouldn’t do to get splashed, my dear._

Crowley hugs Aziraphale from behind, nuzzling the angel’s neck as he runs his hands under the apron, strokes Aziraphale’s chest, enjoys moving his hips against the angel’s backside.

_Do you know, Angel, whenever I feel I’ve been clever, I humble myself by recollecting how it took 6,000 years for me to figure out that what I really desire most in existence is to fondle you. Your delightfully icy skin is softer than rose petals._

Aziraphale sighs as he leans back into Crowley. He morphs into female. A young female, in her teens. Crowley jumps back as if from a hot stove and stands away. Aziraphale turns to face him.

_You don’t like it?_

Crowley’s face twists into an odd look, and he looks away into the non-existent distance.

_You want me to be young, Angel?_

_No, Crowley, I- . . ._

_I’m never quite good enough, am I._

Crowley vanishes.

The mug with angel wings breaks as it hits the floor.


	29. Nap Time

[ ](https://imgur.com/Svar90h)

Image by Aiwa.

London. Late evening. Crowley’s Mayfair flat, spotlessly cleaned up by his Baepsae Platoon of Disposable Demons, but with battered walls and cracked floor still. Dim, empty, and echoing.

Crowley is in his demonic Presence – enormous serpent with folded pterosaur wings, golden horns and crown, plastered against the far wall of the bedroom. At first glance, he could be mistaken for a dragon. His eyes are open – snakes have no eyelids – but he is in a deep sleep.

Aziraphale, clad in his robe from Eden days, is propped against the wall below, reading _The Infernal Times_ by the light of his halo. A few thick books and a Kindle lie scattered nearby.

Crowley’s pupils expand from wire-like slits to black holes. As if stalking prey, his serpent’s head moves with glacial stealth to observe the angel below. Then, in an eyeblink, he transforms to his black Eden tunic, long russet hair in Medusa-like coils. Winches in his wings. Floats from the wall and descends to seat himself close to Aziraphale.

They regard one another. Sit in silence for a long moment. Aziraphale tosses aside the newspaper. Crowley coils around and hugs Aziraphale, head on the angel’s shoulder like a child in need of consolation. Aziraphale’s cold skin, felt through the thin robe, is so soothing. Crowley’s warm skin is so strangely comforting. They hold one another for over an hour.

* * *

_How long have I been out, Angel?_

_Three days._

_You’ve been here the whole time?_

_Of course._

_How did you know I was here?_

_Adam came to the bookshop after you vanished. Somehow he knew you were gone. He suggested I take the little Cabri to London. It’s on the roof. Your Disposable Demons have been standing guard and keeping it under cover. And supplying me with reading material._

_You’ve been away from the bookshop all this time?_

_Yes._

_Let’s fly back. Now._

_No. We need to talk._

_Can I simply apologize for doing a bunk?_

_No, Crowley. I need to understand what to watch out for. So I’m not always tipping you into traumatic memories. Because that’s what I did, didn’t I?_

_Ngk._

Crowley shudders. His breathing becomes rapid and shallow. Aziraphale tightens his hold. The demon is silent for a long while until his breathing eventually slows, then stops.

_I really hated the 14 th century. _

_A dreadful time, to be sure._

_You were still in England then?_

_Yes. Based in Canterbury. Although I also had to travel to abbeys in Ireland. And Scotland. And Wales. Mostly by foot. With some grueling boat passages, of course. Pilgrimages, you know. And of course ministering to victims of the Black Death._

_I got the full hit of the chaos from that. Was all over the place. Caffa. Byzantium. Genoa. Venice. Alexandria. The Levant. Pestilence. Holy wars. The slave trade. You surely recollect the medieval slave trade, Aziraphale? All those children, captured and sold? The Venetians and Genoese selling boys as mamluks and eunuchs. . ._

_Oh dear. . . . Crowley! You weren’t . . . you weren’t . . . a boy?_

_Boy or girl, depending. Back then I was tasked with tempting saints to sin. So I had to look young and delectable. But those centuries were no time to be a teen, male or female. I skittered through the whole shit show like a frightened waterbug. Fled from place to place until I finally made it back across the Channel. I liked Wales. Got to swank around as a dragon there. For a bit. Before some damned bishop exorcised me. But let’s just say, that cursed 14 th century was the final straw in curing me of any desire to be a young human. Male or female._

_When I changed to a young woman, you thought I was suggesting you’d be more attractive if you were young, too?_

_Well, there’s no doubt about it. I would be._

_I think you’re confusing attractiveness with beauty, Crowley._

Crowley looks away as he considers a moment. Then regards Aziraphale again and murmurs:

_I think you were muddling the two as well, Aziraphale. Did you imagine I’d be more excited if you presented as some dewy young thing?_

_I confess I didn’t think, Crowley. It was a spur of the moment impulse. Perhaps all those young disposable demons and angels now on the premises were the inspiration. And that remark of Bituin’s. After all, not even Ammun and Uriel look as old as we do._

_Just to reassure you, Aziraphale, I prefer the sadder but wiser mature angel._

_And my first love and best love will always be for the wily old demon. I just wish you had simply told me you were offended, rather than vanishing like that._

_I couldn’t speak. Felt overwhelmed. I’m just a tempter, you know. Not some bigtime managerial demon like Dagon or Beelzebub. Everyone in Tadfield relying on me to do something about this, that, or the other thing. Not my scene._

_So you were feeling put upon to begin with, and I made you feel inadequate. Oh lord. How I wish I wouldn’t blunder into these things._

_You weren’t to know I’d freak out, Angel. How could you? . . . I try to forget bad memories, not keep poking at them and discussing them before company like quaint souvenirs. But every now and again, something just releases the poison. You’ve seen those toys, where one turns a crank, music plays, and then, WHAMMO, some scary thing pops out the top?_

_“Jack-in-the-box,” I believe they’re called._

_Yep, that’s it. I run screaming away._

_I see. You were probably wise to run off and simmer down. Rather than risk confrontation and an angry scene._

_Not wise at all. I only have two options: strike or flee. And there’s no way in Heaven I could strike at you. You’re my best friend._

Aziraphale cuddles Crowley. The demon relaxes. Then looks thoughtful, sighs:

_Aziraphale. Now you know that a young corporation gives me sexytime whimwhams, probably best not to suggest any fun with ropes, restraints, or chains, either. I have a lot of baggage on that score, too._

Crowley shudders. Aziraphale murmurs,

_And no spankings, I’m guessing?_

Crowley writhes.

_Just determined to scare me out of my skin, aren’t you, Angel? You didn’t bring any whisky along, did you?_

_Perhaps I have something better._

Aziraphale pushes Crowley off his shoulder, then takes the demon’s head between his hands and delivers a long, loving, kiss. 

_Mmmmm. Yes. Much better, Aziraphale._

Crowley snaps his fingers, and their robes disappear. The two levitate and flare their wings, legs and arms locked in embrace, floating in Divine Ecstasy until morning.

* * *

On the landing outside the door to Crowley’s flat. A DeeDee and Jin are seated against the wall, playing Animal Crossing on their Switches, half-empty packets of Pink Wafers and Jammie Dodgers on the floor. They suddenly sit up straight and gaze at the door. DeeDee gets up, fades through the door into the rooms. Comes hopping out less than two seconds later, both thumbs up. The two get on their phones. Seated inside the helicopter on the roof, an Eric is studying a manual. Answers DeeDee’s call. Grins with relief.


	30. A Honeymoon at Last

Mayfair, London. Crowley’s wrecked and empty flat. He and Aziraphale have just come out of their night of Divine Ecstasy. Aziraphale has magicked on his lovely bespoke puppy tooth tweed suit, full kit. Crowley, however, is appareled only in charcoal pinstripe trousers, Prada boots, and his favorite sinfully soft violet Italian v-neck pullover. No undershirt. Aziraphale notices the demon’s nipples protruding beneath the delicate knit, and finds himself longing to slip his hands under it and caress Crowley’s chest fluff. He leans one hand on a black marble wall, places the other against his waistcoat buttons as if experiencing a stab of indigestion. Crowley turns and gives the angel the up and down. Walks over and lays an arm across Aziraphale’s shoulders.

_Need a quickie, Angel?_

_Ordinarily I would reply, “Yes.” But I have an eerie feeling, Crowley, that we should leave here promptly. I can’t explain it._

_Me too. Quick hug. Then let’s get the hell outta Dodge, as the Americans say_

They stand for a moment in a tight embrace, then break apart. Crowley murmurs as they make their way out, hand in hand.

_I was there, you know. Dodge City, Kansas. One of the places Georgia and I rode to._

_Was it like the TV series Gunsmoke?_

_Somewhat. Only far worse. . . . Gunsmoke? You actually had a TV back when that show was on?_

_Well of course._

_Don’t give me that, “of course.” You barely had a telephone, right into the 21 st century._

_A TV is different. You can watch Shakespeare on TV._

_Oh, right. And Gunsmoke._

Aziraphale looks smug.

_It was a stylish little bakelite model. And I purchased a color Sony Trinitron when those first came out._

_Fibber._

_Really, my dear. The color was so bright and lovely. For the time, I mean. 1969._

_I bought a Trinitron, too. I cannot believe we both actually acquired the same piece of human technology at the same time._

_I am not blind to aesthetics and style, Crowley._

Crowley regards the angel with a keen look.

_Yes. You do have your standards. It’s just that you usually pick up on a trend and then hold onto it for at least half a century. I’ll wager you still have the bakelite TV._

_I suppose I do. I think it’s under the desk somewhere. It’s quite small._

_Probably worth a mint to some collector._

_There you go. Fine styling never ages._

_And you’ve got the Trinitron in its original box under that prayer carpet beneath the liquor cabinet._

_With the manuals and special cleaning cloth._

_I rest my case about your holding onto things for half a century._

_Such as a Bentley?_

_Touch_ _é, Angel._

Crowley gives Aziraphale a smooch on the cheek.

The two are now on the rooftop. Eric exits the little Guimbal Cabri and bows.

_Eric. You and the DeeDees clear out straight away. Angel and I have a premonition that something might be coming down here. Place is already a wreck, no need to stand guard if we’re gone._

_Yes, Demon Crowley._

_You be pilot, Angel. Don’t head for Tadfield. Go toward Blackpool instead. I have some phone calls to make. Then we’ll know our final destination._

Eric scoots off down the stairwell. Moments later, three disposable demons can be seen (by those who know where to look) zipping away through the shadows in the street below. The tiny helicopter takes off from its illegal landing pad and floats silently westward over the Thames.

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

Isle of Man. An isolated cottage in a cove on the northeast shore. The G2 is parked on the gravel before the vehicle garage. We zoom through the doorway to find Aziraphale and Crowley in a quaint and cheerful master bedroom. 

_Think this will do for a month’s lockdown, away from the frightful hurly-burly and excitement of Tadfield?_

_Perhaps two months, Crowley._

_Or maybe three. I’ve rented it for that long. I vote we spend the entire time drinking and fucking. Now, about that erotic moment you were apparently having before we decamped from the flat?_

_I wanted to slip my hands under your sweater and caress your chest._

_Well, then._

[our authorial drone flies off to explore the coastline]


	31. Isle of Man

Isle of Man. The charming chintz bedroom of a shoreline cottage. Aziraphale and Crowley are locked together, rolling around on the bed. Crowley is in constant movement, legs twining around Aziraphale’s, burying his head against one of the angel’s shoulders, then the other, his arms moving from one body clutch to another. At moments he blurs into the shadowy outline of an enormous serpent.

_Crowley. This writhing must cease. You’re becoming snaky. As you did in Falmouth. What’s giving you the heebie jeebies?_

_Heebie jeebies? ‘Zat some kind of disease?_

_Don’t be an ass, Crowley. You know perfectly well what I mean. The jitters. Anxiety._

The demon stops thrashing, but is shaken by a violent shudder.

_Dunno, Aziraphale. I feel as if I must touch you everywhere. Coil myself all around you. And maybe superglue myself to your body. Like you’re my other half. I cannot be separated from you._

Aziraphale caresses the demon, pets and strokes his velvety fade haircut.

_You know, Crowley, I think you’ve hit upon something. I share that clingy feeling. That we are opposites who cannot be separated. We attract one another like magnets. Because together we’re somehow whole. The two sides of a coin. You don’t suppose we started out as one being, do you?_

_That got ripped apart? You’d think we’d remember an event like that._

_Well, yes. But it’s been such a long time since we were created. I cannot even recollect that far back. It’s as if we’re in an eternal Now, with memories fading and evaporating as eons pass._

_Might explain why I feel this impulse to mash together with you._

_You wouldn’t like it. Sharing a body is no picnic, I can tell you. As can Madame Tracy._

_M’yes. I enjoyed visiting your body – nice comfy place - but I wouldn’t want to live there. Still, I seem to be having this panic attack about separation._

_Perhaps you would enjoy a massage, my love?_

_No! Just hold me tight. And don’t tell me to relax._

_Tch. I would never do that. “Now just relax” is such a silly thing to say to someone in distress. Only makes things worse. A human physician once confided to me that he quit telling his patients to relax when he had to inject Novocain before stitching them up. On such occasions he obviously had a whacking great needle in hand, right in plain sight. Said he got a much better response by just telling them honestly, “This is going to sting like a hornet.”_

_Yep. Although something like, “Say your prayers” would probably not work so well._

Aziraphale smiles. Crowley has ceased shivering, but is still lying atop the angel, clinging to him with a vise-like grip.

_Well. If I can’t give you a massage, perhaps I could persuade you to make love to me? Instead of squeezing me like a tube of jelly?_

Crowley raises himself upon his elbows and regards Aziraphale from beneath half-lidded golden eyes.

_You really are a wily bastard, Aziraphale._

Sinuous and silent, Crowley gathers himself and kneels lightly astride Aziraphale’s stomach, morphing into his snake demoness form.* Graceful hands trail the backs of ruby talons through the angel’s chest hair, hardening his nipples into buttons. She leans down and hisses with pleasure as Aziraphale reaches up and caresses her breasts . Extends her frightening thick black forked tongue and tickles his face, ears, and open lips. He grasps her hands, inserting his fingers between hers and holding tightly so her razor claws cannot contract, lies with his arms raised alongside his head. 

And that’s all the foreplay they need to indulge in. Demoness Crowley mounts Aziraphale’s erection with sensuous deliberation. Their hips move in a tight dance until they tumble together over the cliff into Divine Ecstasy.

* * *

Next morning. A midsummer storm system has rolled in. Pouring rain drums a tattoo on the roof. Outside, the waves of an incoming tide grind across the shingle. Crowley and Aziraphale lying on their backs in bed and holding hands, both again in their male forms.

_I’ll get you a cup of tea, Angel._

Crowley rises, ambles off to the kitchen, returns with a mug of milky sugary tea and a cup of cappuccino. Aziraphale has in the meantime put the pillows against the head board and is sitting propped against them.

_I see I ripped some holes in the bedding._

The demon hands Aziraphale his mug of tea, then traces a finger to repair the various rips in the bed linens before he climbs aboard next to Aziraphale.

_Sorry, no breakfast pastries. Maybe I should import one of the Erics to do shopping and deliveries for us._

Crowley sips his coffee as he considers further.

_Or maybe a DeeDee. One of the London crew asked me if I’d buy her a Smartcar. Told her to get a grey Fiesta ST instead. We demons can’t be driving cars that will attract attention._

_You let a DeeDee purchase a car?_

_Sure. Why not? At any rate, she’s been zooming around London in her little pocket rocket. Doing deliveries. Couple of the other DeeDees are now also interested. I told Leysa to let ‘em go shopping._

_Guessing they negotiate a low price._

Crowley laughs.

_DeeDee said she practiced Menace, and the dealer practically gave her the car. Had to tell her it was better to be a bit more generous. Thrifty is all right, but we don’t want to be memorable customers._

_But Crowley, how will she get here? Ferry passengers are severely restricted due to the current plague._

_Same way we got here. Demons go wherever they please, damn whatever rules are in effect. It’s our profession, remember?_

Crowley magicks his phone to hand.

_DeeDee. Drive to Heysham, get on the ferry to Isle of Man. Start now. Call me if you need help. Ciao._

Aziraphale sets his mug on the end table, rolls over and hugs Crowley.

_So you’re feeling a bit better after last night?_

_Somewhat. Could use a bit more amour._

_Preferably penetrative, I suppose? Given your yen for body melding._

_Weather outside is frightful. We may as enjoy being snug and cosy inside._

Aziraphale morphs to his lovely female form, a body that would have caused the painter Fragonard to faint from sheer delight. Settles her cool creamy buttocks into Crowley’s lap, snuggles back against the demon. Crowley caresses and tickles the angel’s breasts until her nipples resemble ripe pie cherries. Then long warm fingers devote attention to her plump clitoris.

_You know, Crowley, your long penis is a distinct asset in this position._

_Mmm. Yep. But if you lean forward, I can tickle that delicious ice cream backside and go deeper._

Celestial beings don’t wait around. Moments later:

_Ohhhhh . . . . . . CROWLEY!_

A day of Divine Ecstasy ensues. 

* * *

Several days later. A sunny afternoon on the Isle of Man. The National Folk Museum at Cregneash. Crowley and Aziraphale are standing outside the pen of the multi-horned Manx Loaghtan sheep. The ewes in the pen begin to flehmen, and then trot briskly over to congregate against the fence before Aziraphale. The ram and wethers look decidedly shirty. Crowley regards Aziraphale.

_Looks like yours are bigger, you Ram of God.*_

[ ](https://imgur.com/WVuyBbV)

[](https://imgur.com/vIpkDrj)

_\---------------------------------------------------_

_*_ Chapter 11 of _Crowley Gets a New Look: Green Sorbet_<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/48530465>

*Principalities in court dress before The Presence have ram's heads.

Chapter 17 of _Crowley Gets a New Look: Ram of God._<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/49073537>

[Question: I’m trying to keep this Teen. Do you think the sex scenes are too explicit? I suspect readers of Teen Vogue know more about sex than I did in my early 20s; thus, this chapter is quite tame. Especially compared to PornHub. But if I’m wrong about that, let me know, OK?]


	32. Pet Panthers

Isle of Man. Late night inside the snug bedroom of a shoreline cottage. Crowley is asleep. Aziraphale, who doesn’t sleep, is lying halfway atop Crowley, holding him in a gentle hug, head on the demon’s shoulder. Crowley’s golden eyes pop open.

_Not reading anything tonight, Aziraphale?_

_No. You’re quite relaxing to snuggle up to, you know. So warm and comforting. I simply felt like lying quietly . . . thinking . . . enjoying your presence._

_Mmmm. Have to say, I do love feeling buried in ice cream. Soothing._

They lie quietly together for a long while. Neither one is breathing. Then:

_Aziraphale. I ordered the Disposable Demons to keep an eye on our three angel renegades. Set the two Tadfield Erics on Archangel Zamiyah, as they were obviously already attracted to her. In a panic of desire, really, last I saw them._

_Indeed. I imagine such an assignment must be quite hard on them. The Disposable Demons are very emphatic about their disgust for succubi and incubi._

_Are they ever. So when platoon leader Eric reported this afternoon, I asked him how those two were getting on with Zamiyah._

_Don’t tell me she’s been having sex with them. I would find that most difficult to believe._

_How so?_

_Zamiyah is cold as a cucumber, as the humans say. A ruthless and imperious archangel._

_Well, you’re right about that. But, what she does is allow them to lie naked together with her. They go into Divine Ecstasy._

_You don’t say! She doesn’t become ecstatic, of course._

_Nope. Zamiyah’s a pro, no doubt about it. She correctly diagnosed that what they want is comfort. There’s plenty of sex in Hell, but absolutely zero comfort._

_Those two do resemble a pair of swallow chicks just out of the nest._

_More like jackdaws, I’d say._

_I meant the way they hold hands and huddle together. Surely you’ve seen baby swallows perched on wires, shoulder to shoulder._

_Oh. Right. At any rate, now Zamiyah’s got two tame little demons who would strew rose petals before her if they could. Eric says they stick to her like a pair of leopards._

_Good analogy, that. I can visualize it exactly. Zamiyah and her pet panthers._

Crowley laughs.

_Sister Mary reports they’ve become quite keen on business management._

_They’re doing accounting? Bookings? Personnel . . . capital stock maintenance–_

_Yeah, all that sort of stuff. But now it turns out that Zamiyah, Bella, and Tracy have been conspiring to turn the tea shop into a bakery. “Angel Cakes,” they’re thinking of calling it. And the Erics are begging Mary to include the enterprise under the Tadfield Manor umbrella and let them manage it._

_Hmm. A bakery opposite the bookshop. Rather an enticing prospect, I must admit. But surely it cannot flourish until this plague lockdown is over?_

_The DeeDees want to do deliveries._

_My word. Quite the little team they’ve got going._

_Adam’s all for it, of course. But Wensley advises we’d also better get busy on the swimming pool and gym project._

_And the free bicycle network as well._

_M’yes. Look what bicycling and kendo practice have done for you._

Crowley squirms around against Aziraphale’s body, caressing the angel’s plump stomach.

_Still nice and soft, but now with stamina and shoulder definition._

Runs a hand through the angel’s chest fuzz.

_Nice pectorals, too. That smug bastard Gabriel is in for a surprise if he ever destroys your garments again.*_

Aziraphale visibly stiffens.

_Oh. Sorry, Angel. Forgive me for stirring up bad memories. Here, let me kiss and make it better._

Crowley pushes Aziraphale onto his back, crawls over him like a snake as he delivers kisses all over the angel’s body. Aziraphale relaxes as if having a spa treatment with heated river pebbles.

_You do have nice junk.*_

_Dammit, Crowley._

_Mmmm. My Patrón ice lolly._

* * *

* _The Passion of Aziraphale_ chapter of _The Big One._<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/50229848>

 _*Tiger of the Jungle_ chapter of _Crowley Gets a New Look_ [Adult Content] <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/50424515>


	33. A Shocking Headline

Isle of Man. A grey Fiesta ST zooms down the lane to the beachfront cottage, comes to a smart stop in the gravel driveway. A tiny teen clutching a paper tote hops out of the driver’s side and trots around back to the little outdoor breakfast patio. Aziraphale is sitting straight-backed in his chair as he enjoys a cup of tea. 

All three are wearing summer shorts. DeeDee looks cute in high-waisted striped paper bag shorts. Aziraphale’s are knee-length Bermuda style, pressed, pleated, worn with a belt, long argyle socks, polished loafers, a polo shirt and sports jacket. He has standards. Crowley is sprawled like an overturned crocodile, clad – surprisingly – in black Hawaiian board shorts. He’s taken to paddle-boarding when the sea is reasonable, and doesn’t require a wetsuit for the chilly water.

_DeeDee!_

_Made it in good time, I see._

_I stopped and bought those pies you asked for._

The little demon removes several paper-wrapped pies from the bag. Then dashes uninvited into the cottage.

_I’ll get some plates and forks, Angel Aziraphale._

Crowley reaches for a pork and blood pudding pie, unwraps it, and bites off half.

_Tadfield DeeDee seems to have trained the rest of the pack well, Angel. You didn’t even have to ask for a place setting. Good thing we didn’t leave all those sex toys scattered about the place._

_What sex toys, Crowley?_

_Just kidding, Angel. The DeeDees aren’t exactly shy about having a look around._

_Oh. Of course. Are we going to put her up in the spare bedroom?_

Crowley gazes at Aziraphale.

_Gone mad, have you, Angel?_

DeeDee skips back out with an armful of plates, cutlery, and napkins. Sets the table, glances disapprovingly at Crowley. Who smirks back at her as he takes another pie to hand, then growls,

_Sit and have a pie or two with us, DeeDee. You might like the cheddar and onion for starters._

DeeDee seats herself and puts the recommended pie on her plate. Aziraphale chooses the classic meat and potato filling, consumes it with knife and fork after spreading a napkin on his lap. The three munch contentedly until all pies are consumed.

_Mm. Scrumptious. Can’t get anything like these in London. They use local Manx ingredients, you know, DeeDee._

_Shall I make another pot of tea, Angel Aziraphale? Demon Crowley said to bring a tin of that breakfast blend you prefer. And I brought a copy of the latest Infernal Times. You could read it while you sip a fresh cupful._

_That would be lovely, child. Thank you._

DeeDee takes the teapot and dashes back into the cottage. Sets the kettle boiling, then zips out the front door to retrieve the newspaper and tea tin from the car. Returns several minutes later to set the pot on the table and pour Aziraphale a fragrant cupful. He unfolds the newspaper, than gasps.

_Crowley! Look at the headline!_

**ROGUE ANGEL SLUGGED**

A quarter page photo shows the giant smoking ebony portal to Beelzebub’s office framing a man-sized blimp of a glistening slimy slug. The monster’s shocked face is obviously Sandalphon, albeit now with four eyestalk tentacles.

_Photo Credit: Demon Malacoda_

Crowley rises and stands alongside Aziraphale with a hand on the angel’s shoulder as they read the article together. He looks up briefly to fix DeeDee in his gaze, holds a finger to his lips, unseen by Aziraphale.

_Crowley. This says he burned down your apartment building! There were casualties! Thirteen humans died! Was—_

_Yes. Mrs. Allison was one of them. Along with her 6-year-old grandchild._

_No! How dreadful!_

_The child was staying with her. Mum was in hospital with the plague. She’s since died, too. I expect the three of them are now being entertained by The Heavenly Host._

_Oh dear lord. And Sandalphon did this foul, wicked deed? All by himself?_

_Oh yeah. Apparently he and Hastur have a lot in common. The authorities called it a gas explosion. The building was entirely destroyed. Damage to surrounding structures as well._

_Was he commanded by Beelzebul to do this?_

_Oh no. The minute he was pitched into a boiling sulfur pool, he discorporated back to Heaven. Hildy shook her contacts tree, reported that he showed up in Gabriel’s office. A fly on the wall there told her that Gabriel and Michael had a bit of a row about reincorporating the bastard. Gabriel wanted to do it immediately. Overrode Michael’s objections._

_Of course. Sandalphon was always his favorite lad. Was he sent back to Housekeeping?_

_Yep. But it turns out we were right to get the hell out of Dodge. The night we left, Sandalphon came down the escalator to the Main Lobby. Cameras show him clad in suit and tie. A Manny followed him, saw him torch the flats building._

_Oh, if we had only suspected. We could have warned the other residents to flee._

_Well, who’d have guessed he’d return for a third try? No doubt he was peeved about my discorporating him and Hastur three years ago. But one would think that was water over the dam by now._

_Most unangelic behavior. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord._

_Let’s hope so. I sure don’t want to have to do any of that sort of action._

_I thought that’s what you demons were for? Retribution and all that._

_Not me. The fiends who enjoy it can have it. Not my scene._

Crowley magics his phone to hand.

_Want to see Manny’s video of Beelzebul carrying the smug bastard off for a second visit to Hell?_

_Crowley. You knew all this had happened, and you didn’t tell me?_

Crowley pulls his chair over and sits close to the angel. 

_No point in both of us being anxious. Figured best to wait a bit and see how things turned out. Here, take a look. He’s walking back to the Main Office pleased as punch with himself._

The video shows cracks appearing in the sidewalk behind the striding angel. A huge winged tiger pops up in the exact manner of the Demon King in a panto. Leaps onto the angel’s back. The two vanish.

_The Disposable Demons reported there was quite a bout of screaming from Beelzebul’s office. They were quite proud that Sandalphon held out for a mere fraction of the time I did._

_Yes! Demon Crowley holds the current Torment Record!_

_Easy, Angel. Take a drink of your tea._

Crowley makes a tiny flick of his forefinger, and Aziraphale’s tea subtly changes to a light gold color. The angel takes a puzzled sniff, stares at Crowley, then downs the cup in one go.

_Ah. Thank you, my dear. Exactly the needful._

_And then she turned Sandalphon into a slug. Generally, no one leaves Beelzebul’s office in the same shape as they went in. Sandalphon got lucky the first time. But there are no second chances in Hell._

_Where is he now?_

_Oh, she Sent him back to the Heavenly Host. From what the fly on the office wall reported, he appeared in Gabriel’s office with a note pinned to his hide saying that he was taking up space for which she had better uses, and she wanted a refund._

_Did Gabriel transform him back to human form?_

_Nope. Michael was adamant that doing so would obviously be contrary to The Almighty’s wishes. For She allowed Sandalphon to be captured, instead of Damning him into the Lake of Fire for unauthorized killing of humans. His return to them was a clear sign that it’s Gabriel’s and Michael’s responsibility to take charge of him, not Beelzebul’s. Letting him escape for a third foray to Earth would likely result in an escalation of the consequences. And not just for Sandalphon. Thus Sandalphon must not be allowed to resume human form._

_And how did Gabriel react to that? He can be remarkably obtuse._

_Gabriel protested that they couldn’t have someone leaving a slime trail working in Housekeeping. Contradiction in terms, doncha know. So he compromised. Sandalphon is now a giant cabbage looper._

_Oh my stars._

_With a mop. Kinda wondering how The Celestial Observer has reported this sensation, aren’t you?_

_I believe I could use another cup of “tea.”_


	34. Ineffable Holiday

Isle of Man, approaching noon. Disposable Demon DeeDee has driven off to tour the island, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale at the outdoor patio table. 

_Let’s go bask on the rocks._

_Crowley, the tide’s coming in._

_So? I can swim like a seal. And you, of course, can walk on water._

Crowley magics his phone to hand, checks the tide tables.

_Doubtful it will cover the rocks today. Not the right moon._

_Well then. Let us be off. Let’s take the coast trail to that little cove to the north._

_I’ll bring the paddleboard. You can carry the paddle._

Aziraphale flicks his hand, and appears clad in board shorts like Crowley’s, only in shades of ocean blue. They march off up the trail, then clamber over the black rocks to a favorite large platform with the summer waves lapping gently at its base. The sea is flat, riffled only by the ever-present breeze. Crowley sets the board down, flops down on his stomach onto a warm shelf rock. Aziraphale sets the paddle atop the board, then sits at right angles to the demon, hoists Crowley’s feet into his lap, peels off the surf booties.

_Mmmm. Rocks are nice and hot today. Here, I’ll massage your feet while you fry like an egg._

Crowley makes little sighs and moans as he relaxes under the massage, is soon fast asleep. Aziraphale gently pushes the demon’s feet off his lap and legs apart a bit, repositions himself between them, using Crowley’s backside as a pillow, shoulders and arms supported by warm thighs. The angel’s eyes are closed under his sunglasses, but he does not doze off, nor does he magic anything to read. A slight furrow between the eyebrows as he apparently meditates on something. 

About an hour and a half later, the water is lapping around the edges of the rock, which is now cut off from shore. Crowley comes to.

_I say, Crowley, have you ever noticed how you’re a sort of self-contained bug zapper?_

_Whut?_

_The little beach flies combust when they get close to your skin._

_Oh. Yeah. We demons are like that. When Beelzebul was Beelzebub, the flies in her halo used to drop like burnt raisins when she was especially enraged about something or other. You’ve noticed that bugs drop unconscious when they get close to you, right? Stunned by the chill, I suppose._

_Hm. Never really thought about that. Just always assumed one of the perks of being an angel was immunity to insect pests. Humans, of course, suffer a great deal from them._

_You oughta see the swarms in Hell._

_Maybe not._

_Yep. Not exactly a day trip to sign up for._

_I’m feeling nice and toasted. Do you want to wade back to shore?_

_Nah. I’ll float on my back and pull you back to the beach in front of the cabin. You can sit on the paddle board._

Crowley puts his booties back on, rolls off into the water, hold the board steady while Aziraphale, paddle in hand, gingerly steps onto it and kneels.

_You can sit if you like, Angel._

_Brrr!_ _I think I prefer to stand. T_ _his water can’t be warmer than 10 degrees._

_Feels nice._

Aziraphale laughs.

_Why we don’t shower together._

_You've watched me paddle. . . . Attach the strap to your ankle in case you fall off. . . . Put your feet here and here. . . . Place the paddle blade here on the bow, you can lean on it a bit for balance while I pull._

Crowley magics a length of line to hand, ties a bowline in the bow tie-down loop, and lazily swims on his back toward shore, gently towing the board so as not to send Aziraphale pitching off backwards.

After a few minutes:

_I say, Crowley, could I try paddling?_

_Sure, Angel. If you think it’s fun, we can get you a board, too._

Aziraphale zigzags along, making all the beginner paddling mistakes. Crowley swims alongside, shows the angel how to angle the paddle to keep the board going straight, then otters along up ahead, still holding onto the line for an occasional tug to keep the board circling toward the landing.

They come to shore before their cottage. Crowley steadies the board as Aziraphale steps off, and they wade through the shallows over the smooth rocks. Some yards further down the shore, half a dozen wetsuit-clad paddle boarders are just wading out to mount their boards. After friendly hand waves, heads are jerked back to avoid rude staring, but turn again to watch once the celestial pair’s backs are turned as they stroll hand in hand over the shingle and onto the cottage grounds.

_Huh! No wetsuits! And the ginger swam all the way to shore._

_Patagonia boardshorts. Top of the line._

_How d’you know that?_

_Thought of getting meself a pair._

Looks are exchanged.

_Brave enough to be that revealing, are ya?_

_Ohh yeah._

_Aye, right._

_Cold water didn’t make Red shrink much, did it now._

_I saw ‘em both at the pride rally. They were wearing kilts. Red was sporting the Pride tartan._

_Going commando, I suppose._

_Let’s hope so._

_Thought you lezzies weren’t interested in such things, Mona._

_Oh fuck off, Niall. Let’s get going._

* * *

Crowley exits the shower, towels off. Strolls nude into the kitchen, where Aziraphale is gathering various things onto the table.

_Let’s have a picnic on the lawn, Crowley. This is the first day it hasn’t been overcast. We may as well make the most of this delightful sunlight._

_Good idea. Want to sit on a blanket, or risk the grass?_

_Let’s sit on the grass. The breeze will keep the gnats away._

A short honk of a horn is heard as DeeDee pulls into the driveway. A moment later she bursts into the kitchen, carrying a pastry box.

_I got cupcakes!_

_Well done, my dear. You’re just in time to joins us for a picnic on the lawn. Manx cheese and bread . . . this enchanting elderflower sparkling wine . . . basket of berries . . . your cupcakes will be the finishing touch. What kind are they?_

_Red devil cake, with lots of frosting._

_Perfect! Are you coming as a naturist, Crowley?_

With an exasperated sigh, the demon snaps his fingers and is clad is a black pareo with a Celtic serpentine pattern. The three carry the picnic furnishings and set up on the lawn.

Aziraphale magics the cork out of a bottle, pours them each a glass of wine.

_Cheers!_

Glasses raise and clink.

_Mmm! Nice._

_I say, DeeDee, how have you been managing to get out and about the island? Isn’t there a 14-day quarantine or something?_

_I didn’t go through quarantine. I shipped the car over as freight, slipped aboard, and hid on the ferry. Then I slipped ashore, and pretended to re-board to drive the car away. It only took about half a day._

_You look so young. No one checked your license?_

_I don’t look as I did driving the car on and off the ferry._

The little demon flicks her hand over herself, and transforms from a fluffy-headed teen to a young woman executive in a chic black pantsuit. Large black-framed rose-tinted glasses of an obvious designer look. Curly pixie cut hair under a Panama hat with a wide black ribbon. Prada Chelsea boots. Sleek gold jewelry. A petite mafiosa.

_My word._

_I was prepared to say I was Anthony Crowley’s executive assistant, but they never even asked me any questions._

_Where did you come up with that suit? It doesn’t look off the rack._

_Oh, Leader DeeDee in London had it made for us at that tailor’s the angels go to. We just share it around as needed. And there’s this cool London shop that makes all their own hats._

_Lock and Co., no doubt._

_Yes. That’s the one._

_No heels? I believe human females prefer them._

_Well, we disposable demons don’t. Too hard to run in. We have special soles on the boots for a better grip._

Crowley growls:

_And the jewelry?_

_One of the Mannys found it._

_“Found it,” eh?_

_Well, you know. We’re trying to take over the drug trade from the Albanians. A lot of the loot is jewelry. We had to melt it down and have a jeweler restyle most of it._

DeeDee flicks her hand again, and is once again a teen clad in shorts, tank top, and flip-flops, who looks barely old enough to drive. She meticulously eats another cupcake, not dropping a single delicious crumb. Then:

_Angel Aziraphale, do you mind if I drive off again? I thought I’d explore the west side of the island._

_Of course, my dear. Many interesting things to see. Enjoy yourself and have a good time._

Crowley growls:

_Just keep a low profile, kid. Return here as a last resort. And stick to the guest room if you do. No snooping._

_I heed and obey, Demon Crowley._

DeeDee skips off. Crowley magics away his pareo and the remains and utensils from the picnic back into the kitchen, leaving only the third bottle of elderberry wine and two glasses. He magics out the cork, re-fills his and Aziraphale’s flutes. 

_Ahh. And now, let us resume basking._

_Aren’t you worried about being visible to humans hiking the coastal path?_

Crowley magics away Aziraphale’s board shorts.

_Nah. We’re just a couple of naturists, enjoying our private lawn. Not like we’re prancing around starkers in the park._

_I suppose one could view it that way. The sun does feel so nice on one’s skin._

They lie hand in hand for a long while. A thin high overcast begins to develop.

_I say, Crowley, look at that magnificent ring around the sun._

_Yep. Change in the weather coming. Back to rain tonight._

_Pouring rain outside makes the cottage feel rather cosy, really._

_Good excuse to drink before a fire in the fireplace and spend the rest of the time in bed._

_Do you think DeeDee will be back here tonight?_

_Not if she can help it. She doesn’t sleep, of course. And as you have no doubt noticed, the DeeDees have developed espionage to a fine art. They’ve never been to the Isle of Man, of course, so this is virgin territory for exploration. I fear for the cake-baking populace in particular._

_Cake baking does seem to be a sort of cottage industry here. One can scarcely swing a cat without encountering someone doing fancy cakes and cupcakes._

_I can see why you’re a hero to the DeeDees, Angel._

_One has to admit, Crowley, that the island is considerably more comfortable than it was back in the 12 th century. _

The angel shudders as he continues:

_Dank stone. . . smoky crofts . . . rain, gloom . . . grim copper mines . . .kippered herring. Building the cathedral. The lamentable Bishop Wimund. You weren’t the one who tempted him to brigandry, were you, Crowley?_

_Oh no. As usual with humans, he became a warlord all by himself, poor bastard._

_A most unfortunate end to a rather impressive human, really. You’re sure you didn’t . . . nudge him just a bit?_

_Well, maybe a bit. Best I can recollect, my assignment was to prevent him from turning into some sort of holy boly. As if there was ever any danger of that. I simply didn’t imagine he’d carry the fight to Scotland. Nasty downfall. He’s being treated all right in Hell, though. Got the top level._

_And you claimed credit in your compliance report, I suppose?_

_Yep._

_I got sent to Coventry. Literally and figuratively._

_Good times._

_Let’s go back inside for a dram and some canoodling._

_I’m all for that._

* * *

A trio of hikers comes down the coast trail toward the beach. The leader stops abruptly to take in the view down below on the cottage lawn.

_Whoa. Nice junk._

_Really, Moira._

_Well, ‘tis._

[Aziraphale gets up, gives Crowley a hand, and together they stroll into the cottage.]

_Cute backsides, too._

A titter from the rear.

_Tch. Let’s push on, shall we?_


	35. Transfiguration

[ ](https://imgur.com/b2nnU9E) [Illustration by AiwaSensei. Full size pic _at Crowley Gets A New Look_ ]

Isle of Man. About 9 o’clock of a darker than usual summer evening as giant cumulonimbus clouds build towers in the sky. Aziraphale and Crowley are reclining in lounge chairs. Neither one is wearing anything, as the air is sweltering and humidity is saturated. Aziraphale is perusing a book on Manx history that DeeDee found for him. Crowley is sprawled in reverse position on his stomach, with bent legs against the chair back and arms dangling over the foot. Aziraphale closes his books.

_I say, Crowley, looks like a serious thunderstorm developing. I suppose we should move the chairs back into the garage storage so the cushions don’t get soaked._

_Mmf._

Crowley rolls himself off his chair, gives Aziraphale a hand up. They wheel the chairs back into storage, then wend their way to the kitchen. Aziraphale walks to the refrigerator, turns to Crowley.

_Would you care for a bot of that sparkling elderberry wine, my dear? Something chilled and refreshing?_

_Great idea. Let’s go drink in bed._

They prop up all the pillows at the head of the bed and sit companionably close. Aziraphale uncorks the bottle and pours two flutes. They clink glasses.

_Bollocks to Heaven._

_Bollocks to Hell._

_The humidity must be one hundred percent. This bottle is positively dripping condensation._

Crowley downs his wine.

_Pour another glass and we’ll finish it._

Aziraphale finishes his glassful, then pours the remainder of the bottle into their flutes.

_Mmmmm . . ._

Wine gone, they set their glasses aside and regard one another.

_You’ve been rather thoughtful the past few days, Angel. What have you been chewing on?_

_I . . . well, it has occurred to me that since we’ve been here we’re never out of each other’s company._

_Yes! And fucking more hours than we’re up and about. Have never felt so energetic._

_Well that’s just it, Crowley. Are we thrall to some sort of addiction?_

_You’d think we’d have noticed something like that before now._

_Before we came here – before your flat was destroyed – you’d spend days in London tending to your nefarious business affairs while I pottered around Tadfield. Sometimes you’d be gone for a few weeks. While I was always delighted upon your return, I never felt such anxiety as I do now about being separated from you._

_Well, we were imagining you and the bookshop were safe in Tadfield. And being attacked by a squad of the Heavenly Host wasn’t exactly on our radar, either. Fucking Sandalphon._

_Leysa and the Baepsae Platoon have certainly been pulling their weight._ _Hell sends you protection. Heaven tries to abduct me back into the fold, whether I want to go or not._

A sad look flits across Aziraphale’s face. Then:

_I remember something Dagon said when I – or you, rather – were on trial for treason after the Apocalypse fizzled. I was surprised when Michael appeared with the flagon of Holy Water. If I remember correctly, Dagon’s words were something about diplomacy, and “cooperation with our old enemies.”_

_Are you sure it wasn’t “cooption of our old enemies?” Because if the war between Heaven and Hell has become a cold war, Hell seems to be winning._

_How do you mean, Crowley? Hell has had four demons Extinguished. Hastur is enduring some horrific punishment in Satan’s gut._

_Let’s recap. Beelzebub destroys the entire lobby of the Main Office Building and in the process discorporates Gabriel, one of The Twins, and a dozen security angels. Gabriel gets the statue punishment from The Almighty. Beelzebub tortures and discorporates him, again. Demon Eric falls in love with an angel and actually rescues her from demons. Angels jumping ship – and not just rankers. Uriel. Ammun. Zamiyah. Metatron’s entire archive destroyed. Hekla transformed into a dark Angel of Wrath. The Twins are now shaky in their loyalty to Gabriel. Demons and humans and angels making connections all over the place in Tadfield. The Disposable Demons, Angel Bituin, and Tadfield Demon Manny are now in league with my human business associates. The worlds of cybercrime and international finance aren’t going to know what hit them, is my guess on the outcome of that particular team’s work. A whole squad of angels gets discorporated by a mere human. Hell's master is no longer Beelzebub Lord of the Flies, but is now Beelzebul the tiger, Prince of the Palace. And that thug Sandalphon is a fat green caterpillar._

_That’s particularly strange, I think, Crowley. Hell, of course, is notorious for demons being afflicted with the bodies of insects and non-human animals. Beelzebul transformed Sandalphon into a slug before she sent him packing back to Heaven, is that not so? So how did he become a caterpillar? Only Gabriel could have transformed him._

_Heaven doesn’t have an actual prison, does it? Stone walls, manacles, chains, pools of boiling sulfur – that sort of stuff?_

_No. Housekeeping is where misbehaving angels are sent._

_Well,_ _Gabriel probably couldn't just allow an angel to maintain a demonic corporation, now could he? But_ _with no confinement facility available, perhaps being a giant caterpillar is what prevents Mr. Slug Thug from exiting the Main Office to engage in more renegade escapades?_

_That could indeed be the case, Crowley. I think you've hit upon it. A bright green two-meter caterpillar would likely attract immediate attention if it tried to crawl out of the building onto a London street. . . . I wonder if he’s now smoking a hookah?_

Crowley gives Aziraphale a blank look.

_Alice in Wonderland, Crowley. The blue caterpillar._

_Oh. Yeah! That Disney cartoon movie. Based on some kids’ book, wasn’t it?_

_Indeed. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, published in 1865 by Lewis Carroll, the nom de plume of one Charles Dodgson._

_Hm. Must have happened when I was sleeping through most of that century._

_A most interesting man. I have all the first editions of his various works._

_Of course you do._

_And that brings us back round to what started this conversation. I haven’t missed the bookshop at all, I’m so enjoying being in your constant company._

_Really?_

_Yes. I worry that I’m enjoying it too much. I rather dread having to return to duty in Tadfield, in fact._

_Duty?_

_Well, aren’t we there to assist Adam when he requires it?_

_Minions of Satan, are we, serving his kid?_

_Certainly not! Adam is quite clear that he is human and has a human father._

_Rearranged reality to make that the case, if I recollect correctly._

Aziraphale snorts:

_“If I recollect correctly," indeed! Don’t pretend that harrowing experience wasn’t seared into your memory._

_Don’t get shirty, Angel. I was merely striving for irony._

_Oh. Well then._

_But I know what you mean. It’s so much fun here, basking and paddling and fucking with you._

_You forgot wine and cake and those scrummy little pies._

_I was counting upon you to add those to the list._

_And could you please try to say “making love” instead of being so vulgar._

Crowley grins. Consults his phone.

_Might be some thunder and lightning tonight. Angel, let’s go out to that little cove and make whoopee full goose. Could be exciting, if the atmospherics are up to plan._

_What if it’s just heavy rain?_

_Then we fly home to bed, have a glass of scotch, and snuggle up._

As DeeDee drives down the road to the cottage, she sees two nude winged men take off north around the shoreline. She parks the car, goes into the kitchen. Goes to the cake safe on the counter, cuts a large slice of angel cake. Gets the carton of whole Manx milk from the refrigerator, pours a large glass of the chilly richness. Demon Crowley’s orders were to keep to the guest bedroom, but no doubt that was only for when he and the angel were inside the cottage. She slowly works her way through her nighttime snack, savoring every mouthful. A surprisingly long little tongue licks out the inside of the glass and the few crumbs and smears of frosting from the plate. She then washes the plate, cake knife, fork, and glass and sets them in the drying rack. Magics on a cute little red rain hood and boots. Skips out the door and up the coastal path. She has to keep an eye on Demon Crowley, after all.

* * *

DeeDee trots along the coastal path like a shadowy wraith. Spots a human sitting with legs outstretched on the shingle in the little cove. Approaches silently, discovers an elderly woman dressed in a raincoat, boots, and sou’wester. A torch and walking staff lie alongside her.

_Ma’am? Are you all right?_

The old woman nearly jumps out of her skin.

_Goodness, child. How you startled me!_

DeeDee sits down next to the woman.

_Have you twisted your ankle or something?_

_No, child. I’m here to watch the storm. It’s about all the excitement I get nowadays._

_Do you live up the path?_

_Yes. I have a small cottage in the village. Near the old church._

_That’s a long walk. My name’s DeeDee. I’m staying at the cottage south of here._

DeeDee reaches under her rain jacket into her hoodie pocket, retrieves a yellow packet. Extracts a candy and offers it in her palm.

_Would you like a sherbet lemon?_

_Why thank you, child. . . . Mmm. It’s been too long since I last enjoyed one of these. I seem to have gotten stuck on peppermints._

_Here, have another. I just opened this bag, and there’s lots._

They sit silently sucking on their candies as Crowley and Aziraphale slowly twirl in Divine Ecstasy above the water. The woman regards DeeDee, who is gazing up into the sky, and then points.

_DeeDee, do you see what I see out there?_

_What do you see, Ma’am?_

_You may call me Moira, DeeDee. I see two winged beings tangled together. One looks like a dragon, the other like an angel with a ram’s head and horns._

[Were Anathema or Adam present, they would be awestruck by the size of the rainbow aurora the pair is generating]

_That is the Demon Crowley and the Angel Aziraphale._

_Are they locked in mortal combat?_

_Oh no. They are fucking._

_That is a very rude word, DeeDee._

_That’s what Angel Aziraphale says, too. He says the proper term is “making love.” But I am a demon, so I think I have to use the improper word._

_You look more like Red Riding Hood than a red devil, DeeDee. Am I dead, that I am seeing an apparition and being visited by a small demon?_

DeeDee shakes her head.

_You are not dead. They’re just being indiscreet._

_A demon and an angel “making love” is not according to the rules, I take it?_

_Satan’s sins, no! Demons and angels are enemies. I am afraid they are in danger of being smited._

_I feel more than a little uncomfortable about this, DeeDee. Now that I know what they’re doing - and that I'm not hallucinating - watching them seems like prying. I have no wish to be a Peeping Tom. And the air has gotten strange. Full of ozone or electricity or something. My arm hairs feel as if they're rising._

_I'm scared. I think we need to get out of here. But it’s a long way in the dark for you back up the path to the village. Why don’t you come with me down the path. It’s not so far, and I have a car. I can take you back to your cottage. Or we can drive down the lighthouse road and watch the storm from inside the car. There is going to be lighting and thunder, I am pretty sure._

_I am not in peril of mischief from a small devil?_

_Oh no. I’m not that kind of demon._

DeeDee hops up, offers Moira her hand.

Moira rises with the help of her walking stick and DeeDee. She gestures downward

_Dare we use the torch, do you think?_

DeeDee glances back to supernatural pair levitating over the cove. Picks up the torch.

_Maybe best not to. I can see in the dark. I will hold your hand until we are around the corner and out of sight._

_Fortunately, I have been traveling this path for many years now. I can probably walk it blindfolded._

They hobble hand in hand up the shingle and back onto the path. Sometime later, a pair of headlights goes up the road out of the cottage cove and out of sight. A terrific crack of lightning ruptures the night, thunder rolling over the landscape. The roadside trees and shrubbery prevent DeeDee and her companion from witnessing the shaft of blue light preceding the lighting strike in the small cove.

* * *

IN THE PRESENCE OF THE ALMIGHTY.

Aziraphale and Crowley blink into existence before the radiant Presence. Crowley hisses and rears his head back like a viper prepared to strike. Aziraphale curls his wings around and spreads his arms wide as if to shield Crowley.

The Almighty contemplates her two little chaos generators as they desperately try to protect one another. 

SERAPH CROWLEY. DEMONIC GUISE IS NOT PERMITTED IN MY PRESENCE.

Aziraphale clenches his hands together in supplication. He can feel Crowley constrict around him, no doubt contemplating the coming plunge into the Lake of Fire.

_Lord, please-_

Before the angel can utter another syllable, Crowley is transformed. Six pointed swallow wings of flickering flames in red, blue, and radioactive green. Still a snakelike body, but now covered with iridescent red and gold hummingbird feathers instead of scales. A long fiery tail of red, orange, and yellow flames eyed like peacock plumes. No longer a heavy python, but warm and light as a bird. A firebird. Or rather, a flaming feathered serpent. The visage meeting Aziraphale’s gaze is Crowley’s human face, with skin black as night, in which golden snake eyes shine like twin moons. Surrounded by a floating russet mane of twisted silken ropes with puffy ends - a sort of passementerie Medusa. _“I was just six wings, a face, and a tail. . .”_

Aziraphale feels himself change as well, reaches up a hand to pat his face. He no longer has a ram’s head. His kindly human face is illuminated with inner light, surrounded by a shock of long white wooly curls that merge like a lion’s mane with his chest wool. Still sports two long outward-spiraling golden horns, however. As best he can with Crowley still coiled around him, carefully lowers his horned head, extends his arms, and bows.

CARRY ON.

The pair vanish from The Presence.

* * *

Master bedroom, Isle of Man cottage. Crowley and Aziraphale blink into existence. The demon is on his back, arms and legs twisted around the angel atop him.

_Oof._

They roll apart onto their sides. Aziraphale clutches Crowley’s hand as they regard one another.

_Were we just called onto the carpet?_

_A performance review, perhaps._

_We certainly weren’t scolded and spanked._

_“Carry on.”_

A long silence as they contemplate possible implications of this command. Aziraphale shivers. Crowley embraces him, holding the angel’s wooly head against his shoulder.

_I think we’re all right, Angel. Don’t be scared._

_I . . . I’ve never actually been summoned in person to The Presence before, Crowley. Was always far back in the crowd. I was terrified._

_She’s all right. I used to have to sing in the background choir. Celestial harmonies. Boring as He- . . . all get out. Hanging with Lucifer and the guys was much more fun._

The demon is betrayed by his rapid breathing and how he’s holding Aziraphale like a vise.

_Can’t say I was looking forward to another plunge into the Lake of Fire, though. That really smarted the last time it happened._

They silently cling to one another. It is a long while until calm is restored. Aziraphale develops a thoughtful expression.

_I say, Crowley, when you were transformed, did you notice a change in your . . . um, plumbing?_

_Yep. My hemipenes disappeared and you were nice and tight inside me. I present as female when I’m Upstairs._

_Do you think She noticed that we were still . . . connected?_

_No doubt._

_How embarrassing._

_Nuh uh. She gave us those things. Can’t imagine she’s surprised if we use them._

_Well that’s just it, Crowley. Use them for what? We don’t reproduce with them, as humans do._

_Humans don’t just reproduce with them, as you well know. Definite social bonding aspects. I think they’re our reward for being good little hard-working celestial beings._

_How are we good? I hardly ever feel competent that I’ve done the right thing. Right from the get-go I gave away my flaming sword instead of using it for guard duty, got caught basking naked on the wall . . . It’s been one long string of bumbling misadventures ever since._

_We are loving. We take care of one other. I think that must generate some sort of supernatural field that draws in others. I mean, look at Anubis, Ammun, and Uriel and how they’ve outmaneuvered Gabriel and Michael at every turn. And Eric and Hekla. Pretty spectacular results from their union, wouldn’t you say?_

_My word, yes._

_There’s no love in Hell._

_And nothing but chilly duty in Heaven._

_And no Divine Ecstasy in either place. At least humans get a taste of it on Earth._

_As do we._

More silence as they think this over.

_I feel different. Let’s see if I’m still a snake demoness._

Crowley morphs into female. She’s tall, lanky, and black as ebony. Satiny skin. High tight breasts. A halo of red gold ringlets surrounds a handsome face with golden slit eyes and red feathered eyebrows.

_Angel. Look. No claws!_

They inspect her hands. No more talons. Just long supple fingers with short nicely manicured ruby nails.

_I can caress you now without worrying about slicing you into ribbons._

_A definite improvement, indeed. And no more shredded upholstery._

Crowley turns her head.

_Do I still have a demonic serpent sigil?_

_No. Now you have what looks like a gold serpent with a halo, six wings, and a coiled plumed tail._

_Interesting. Male, I’m a demon. Female, an angel?_

_Either way, you’re delightfully warm._

Crowley runs a hand through Aziraphale’s wooly hair, strokes his shoulders and chest. The Angel raises his head and gazes into the demon’s eyes.

_Aziraphale. You look positively lusty._

_Mm._

A long loving kiss. Then frantic grappling, rolling and thrashing around. Divine Ecstasy for hours . . . and hours . . . and hours. . .

* * *

And here our authorial drone leaves this narrative. Perhaps someday we’ll resume an account of their adventures after they return to Tadfield. But for now we leave our lovers in peace and happiness.


End file.
